Harry Potter and The Blood-Soaked Succession
by NonsensicalRants
Summary: Ron and Hermione died due to the events at Malfoy Manor and Harry was on track to join them. Alone and beaten, Harry resorts to the most horrendous magic to try and save his own life and continue the hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxi. An act that would start him on the path to becoming a monster so much greater and more terrible than the one he had set out to destroy.
1. Chapter 1: The Death of Harry Potter

**Harry Potter and the Blood-Soaked Succesion**

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

**The Death of Harry Potter**

* * *

Harry stirred from his fitful sleep with a lurch. He couldn't recall dozing off, but considering the total lack of rest he'd gotten over the past week it was unsurprising that he passed out against his will. Unsurprising, but still cause for concern.

He flung the chair he'd slept in and scrambled to the other side of the tent and the unconscious man who lay there. A few swishes of his wand later and he breathed a sigh of relief. His diagnostic charm showed that the dose of sleeping draught he'd given the Death Eater was still in effect. If it had run through Draco's system while Harry'd been unconscious then it could have spelled disaster.

Still, he hadn't survived this long without an unhealthy amount of paranoia.

He checked the position of every object in the magically expanded tent for tampering or duplication charms. Poison diagnostic spells on what little food he had all came back negative, and the same was true for the containers of water beneath his cot. Lastly, he checked the bottle of Draught Of Living Death. It looked to be at the same level as the last time he'd dosed the Malfoy heir. Even still, the possibility that Draco could have woken up, sent out a message only to then dose himself again was just crazy enough to match the normal absurdity that was Harry's day-to-day life.

He dropped a basil leaf he into the glass container dissolved just as it should have. If it had been diluted with water or altered in any way then it would have caused a much more extreme reaction.

Breathing out another sigh of relief, he sank against the tent wall.

A month earlier he would have called himself paranoid. A month earlier he would have been wrong to do so.

Checking his watch, Harry discovered that he had slept for nearly six hours. Another ten minutes and Draco really would have woken up. As it stood, he had just enough time to pour another dose down his prisoner's throat.

Harry uncorked the glass container and carefully poured the right amount into a measuring cup he pilfered from a cough syrup bottle. Turns out chemical resistant plastics made for great potion containers. It was even better at the task than masterfully enchanted glass.

Harry lifted Draco's head with far more care and gentleness than the bastard deserved and nearly tipped the container of black sludge towards his would-be rival's lips. It was then that he caught sight of his hand. It was a sight that gave him pause. He had once found Dumbledore's mortal injury revolting, yet here he was with a far more vicious and wretched version of the withering curse devouring his own limb. Whatever Bellatrix had slashed him with as he made his escape from Malfoy manor was a very different breed of dark magic to that of the ring Horcrux.

His flesh had turned black like tar, and felt almost fossilized in it's hardness. In fact, the resemblance to tar was so great that Harry suspected the curse was somehow based on the substance. There must be some form of irony in the fact that he was afflicted in the same limb as the late headmaster. Unlike his former mentor, unfortunately, he didn't have a potions master and high-ranking Death Eater there to slow the progress of the incurable curse.

Fleur and Bill had done what little they could, but they couldn't save Ron from the withering curse infected wounds all over his body so Harry doubted they could save him from even one. That's why he was here, in this tent, hidden away from the world. He couldn't bear to remain at Shell Cottage, forcing them to watch him die just as they had seen their brother, in blood and marriage, slowly leave this world.

The same way he and Ron had watched Hermione die in that Manor.

A sudden spasm of pain erupted up his arm and he dropped the dose of sleeping draught to the floor where it corrosively ate through the fabric. He let Draco back down on Ron's old cot before clutching the agonized limb and fighting to clench his teeth against the pain instead of nearly biting his tongue off, like he had the last time. A minute of well-practiced breathing techniques later and he was able to move again. He quickly retrieved the plastic cup and potion bottle and made to refill it before stopping to reconsider.

It had been a week. An entire week of research and vainly hoping for an alternative method. It had been a fools errand, and now he was out of time. In another day the withering curse would reach a vital organ and kill him.

Nobody would be left to continue his mission. Nobody would even know about Voldemort's singular vulnerability. Nobody left to fullfill the prophecy. He was the only one who could do it. The only person or thing would could accomplish either. And instead of spending the week he had left trying to find a way to break into Gringott's - a task he was certain he could do with his best friends by his side, but had no hope of of even attempting by himself - he had wasted it trying to spare Malfoy's life.

"It's time." He mumbled to himself as he dropped Draco back onto the chained cot.

Harry discarded the potion and returned to his work desk. The piles of attempted arithmancy, discarded plans of bank heists and snake assassinations now only useful as a means of kindling. The wretched tome leaning against the pin board was what he needed now.

_Secrets of the Darkest Arts._

In it's pages was the only means of saving his life, and the only means of _maybe_ getting his friends back at his side. Friends without whom he had no chance of completing his mission, but with whom he could conquer the world. With them by his side he could defeat any for. With their presence, even in spirit, he could overcome any obstacle.

He untied the golden Snitch from where he'd placed it on the pin board. His sleep-deprivation induced map of Horcruxi was all the uglier without it.

He had the diary pinned beside Slytherin's ruined locket. NExt to that was a drawing of Hufflepuff's goblet. On the other side was a sheet of paper with Ravenclaw's symbol surrounded by question marks. At the bottom of the board was an impressive drawing of Nagini. There was also the piece of paper where he'd tied the Snitch to and which showed another drawing, this time of the Gaunt ring with the Hollows symbol beside it, which was also surrounded by question marks.

He had one Hollow in his possession, and now Voldemort did too.

Harry was ninety nine percent sure Dumbledore had hidden the Gaunt ring inside of the Snitch, and a further ninety five percent certain it was the Resurrection Stone of legend. Regardless, he was one hundred percent certain that he would be invincible with it in his hands, for with it he could bring back his mind and his heart, Hermione and Ron.

He felt a sudden camaraderie with the late Professor Quirrel. That which he desired most was so close at hand he could taste it, yet so far out of reach. Within the snitched was a stone that could defy death. But how to get it!?

He had tried everything. Cutting it open with the sword, blowing it apart with his strongest spells, uttering the name of every candy in existence. He'd even tried hypnotizing himself into believing he wanted to get it but not use it, thinking the Headmaster may have used the same trick as with another death-defying stone. But no. Nothing. Nothing worked.

Now he had only one recourse. A means of prolonging his life and maybe, just maybe, circumventing the protections placed on the Snitch.

Draco stirred in his sleep as the potion finally wore off. The heavy chains Harry had put him in on the first day clinked with every movement. It was nearly time.

With a few waves of his wand Harry cast a silencing enchantment on the tent. Set to activate on the word "vole" to prevent Draco from saying the tabooed name. It would silence him before he could utter the second syllable of the one word that would lead to his rescue.

Harry wished he'd had the idea sooner. It would have saved his friends lives. It would have saved Draco's life. It would have saved Harry's very soul.

He dragged the cot, with Draco in it, to the center of the tent before banishing all of the furniture, clothes, books and spare parchment to make room for the ritual. He burned the runes and ritual lines in the floor with an accuracy honed through his practice of drawing them by hand on paper in preparation for this very moment.

An Ouroborus now decorated the floor, creating a circle with Draco at it's center.

"Ohhh. Wha?"

Draco was waking. Good. The victim needed to be conscious. The killer had to look them in the eyes as they did the deed. Or so said the book. Harry was consulting it now, making sure he did everything exactly.

"Potter? What is this!?"

Harry ignored the blonde ponce. If they talked he could lose his nerve. Lose his conviction.

He placed the Snitch on the appropriate spot in the ritual circle, right on the tip of the tale about to be eaten by the serpent, before withdrawing the silver potion knife from his robes. A quick slash of his good hand and the golden sphere was painted red.

"Potter?"

He sounded scared now. Good. He had some sense about him after all.

He cast the last few enchantments on the Snitch, enchantments that would become overpowered by the ritual and make the object nigh indestructible.

"Potter, whatever you think this ritual is supposed to do, it won't work how you expect. They never do."

He was pleading now. In any other situation he would have been correct, but even the son of a Death Eater turned Death Eater himself wouldn't know exactly what this ritual was for.

"Harry please! Only madmen resort to these kinds of rituals. Even the darkest of families forbid them. Stop this!"

Harry removed his robes and shirt while Draco spoke and he could hear the other man's voice catch at the end of his plea. When the damage wrought by the withering curse was on full display.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. His entire right arm was like burnt leather, as was most of the right side of his torso down to his hip. He'd have been silenced by the sight too.

There were three steps left to start the ritual and he couldn't stall any longer. He'd have a minuscule window of time to complete the final task without dying from it. It was a straightforward ritual, one that was easy enough for most people to do if they had a high enough pain tolerance. But he had decided to take an extra precaution all the same.

He dug the empty vial of Felix Filicus from a drawer and filled it with water from a goblet. Hopefully whatever residue from the potion left in there would give him a few moments, hell, a few seconds of luck.

"You're really going to kill me aren't you?"

This time Harry did acknowledge him. He looked Draco dead in the eyes, ignored the misery and terror in his face and have a sharp nod.

"But why? I tried to help you. Really, I did." He pleaded. "I don't deserve this."

"I know." Said Harry, just above a whisper.

It was all he could say. He didn't have time to explain now. It was so unfair that it had to be him. Harry had spared monsters like Fenrir Greyback, treated rapists and murderers like Rowl and Dolohov with mercy; With kiddy gloves. Well no more!

If everything went according to plan he could explain everything to Draco after he killed him. Could even thank him for trying to save their lives at the mansion. Could apologize, and promise to give those genuinely deserving of this fate a far stickier end.

Harry stepped forward and wiped Draco's face with his cut hand, smearing it with blood. Draco grimaced and shuddered at the contact, but returned to the staring match with Harry afterwards.

Two steps to go.

"Take him down." Draco demanded, his fear turning to rage. "You kill that son of bitch and destroy all the wretched perversions of my culture he's propped up. And you do it in my name!"

There was a conviction in his voice. He was ready to die, ready to give his life to take down the man that had humiliated his family and destroyed their dreams.

Harry nodded his assent and downed the vial of water.

At least he wasn't wasting Harry's time with offers of fealty or suggesting they team up. With that mark on his arm Voldemort is able to enter is mind and recall him, so long as he's conscious. That's why Harry had kept him sedated. And that's why he was hurrying. If Voldemort coincidentally decided to summon Draco now then he will be able to sense their location, and bring an entire army to the front flap of his tent.

Draco held his gaze all the way up until the killing curse struck him square in the chest. As soon as it did Harry performed the final step and plunged the silver knife into his stomach.

The magic around him flared in objection to the abominable ritual and Harry knew it was working. He pulled the knife up from his naval to the center of his chest, slicing his entire stomach open to the point that his organs threatened to spill out. The only thing preventing him from going into shock was the ritual itself.

He quickly discarded the knife and reached into his own body. He had a choice of seven organs to choose from, but he had already decided on his liver. He ripped it out and nearly dropped to the floor as his knees buckled. The squelching sound and the sensation of tearing viscera was more than he bargained for, yet he still held onto consciousness by a thread.

He held the blood-dense organ at arms length and squeezed, wringing out the life liquid to make the final step slightly easier.

Somewhere along the way he had started screaming, more in horror at his own actions than pain, and as tears ran unchecked down his cheeks the tent around him turned into a chaotic typhoon of magic, a typhoon that flung everything around him every which way. But he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, and didn't let the storm of clothes and shattered furniture distract him.

With the last of his effort Harry put his own liver in his mouth and swallowed the slippery organ, nearly choking on it. He came very close to vomiting in disgust as he committed the horrendous act of self-cannibalization, the act needed to create a Horcrux. It was abhorrent and unnatural on every level. Sustaining yourself by consuming yourself, just like a Horcrux does to the soul.

The world around him melted away and he saw it. He saw himself; everything he was, like a collage of memories, emotions, dreams and so many other little things that defined him but didn't have names. He watched on, detached, as if by astral projection, as the ritual shredded his essence apart. Each memory, emotion and less easily named thing that made up his being torn apart like paper and being set aflame.

It was horrible. A pain so much deeper and so much more profound than any injury or curse he'd yet endured. A pain not of the body, and so lacked description.

The rip in his soul grew like a coat zipper coming undone as the burning memories all shifted and left him. When his soul finally split completely in twain saw the burning half vanish from his perception and he knew only darkness.

* * *

Harry awoke in agony, stirred by the singing of birds outside.

He tried to groan. Tried to move any part of himself, but he didn't have the strength. The world seemed dead. He felt dead. No. That wasn't true. He didn't feel dead. In fact, he couldn't feel... Anything.

His body was in pain, certainly, but it seemed so far away. Dissociated, even. Like it wasn't his body anymore. It took all of his effort to move a finger, and even the sensation of moving, of feeling the carpet beneath his fingers, seemed so foreign to him. Like his body was rejecting him.

Then his vision returned to him and he had access to two senses.

He watched and listened as he came to grips with his surroundings. The tent looked like a literal tornado had torn through it, and technically speaking, one kind of had. But his eyes and ears weren't seeking clothes or furniture or even the corpse of his victim. It sought the speck of gold that should have been sitting not three feet from him.

But the Snitch wasn't there.

He turned his head, willing the muscles in his neck to obey. He would have panicked, but his inability to feel seemed to extend to the emotional as well. He didn't even really desire to find the Snitch, to do anything, not even exist. He had to force such inclinations as well.

Then he spotted it. The fluttering sound that he'd become so familiar with in his career as a seeker. The Snitch was flitting about the ceiling like it normally would, but he could immediately tell something was off.

It wasn't flying with the short jerking movements it normally used, but slowly and methodically exploring it's surroundings.

"Hello?" Harry called, his voice hoarse. "Me?"

It was an odd experience. Talking to an inanimate objects was nothing new, but calling said object "Me" was grammatically strange in the extreme. Still, the Snitch must have heard him because it swooped down and floated above his chest.

It took all of his strength and willpower, but he forced his body into a sitting position. The deep gash in his stomach, repaired but not healed by the ritual, screamed in protest. But as with other things he couldn't quite relate to the pain.

_Hello to Me too._

The words emblazoned on the Snitch, not in the beautiful and well-practiced caligraphy of Dumbledore but his own chicken scratch, was a confirmation. Proof that it had worked.

Harry had created a Horcrux.

He was immortal. It wouldn't stop the withering curse from consuming his body, but he'd be able to go on despite it. He would go on functioning and acting in his own fossilizing body for as long as he had to.

Reality finally started to creep back into him and he was able to feel a small sliver of hope invade whatever remained of his soul. It was time to find out if the other intended consequence of the enchantment had born fruit.

He held out his hand and the other him in the Snitch obliged, vomiting a cracked black stone into his equally blackened palm.

He turned it thrice in his hand and when he finally dared to look up from the deathly hollow his heart soared, and subsequently crashed.

Everyone had come. His mother beside his father and his grandparents. Ron and Hermione beside Draco. Sirius beside Peter. Albus beside Moody beside Cedric. Every person he cared for had come, and every single one of them wore a look of horror and disgust.

So they knew what he'd done. He should probably feel ashamed, or share in their disgust and horror. But he couldn't. To feel any remorse would undo the Horcrux and make him whole, make him join them.

He rose to his feet and Lily, his mother, flinched away from him. The other's had their own reactions to his sudden movement, but that one hurt the most.

"Come." He demanded of them all. "We have work to do."

* * *

**Author's notes:**

This is a rewrite of the story** "Fight Fire With Fire and Burn the Whole World Down".** I've become a much better writer since and decided I'd be better off starting fresh.

The original has much more humor, this one will have much more action and will be faster paced. You might still find some value in the original and I recommend you go read it.

**On creating Horcruxi:**

For those of you who don't know, creating a Horcrux requires murdering someone to split your soul and an unspecified horrific act to separate the torn piece. Rowling refuses to say what that act is but we know she told her editor and he nearly threw up from it. Us fans have narrowed it down to three possibilities.

\- Murdering an unborn fetus while still in the mother(This theory has a lot behind it. I like this one)

\- Self-mutilation

\- Self-Cannibalization

I decided on self-cannibalization because it most symbolically reflects the act of creating a Horcrux. Splitting your body into pieces to sustain yourself. Just as the Horcrux does with the soul. And because I didn't have any pregnant women handy.


	2. Chapter 2: All Magic Leaves Traces

**Harry Potter and the Blood-Soaked ****Succession**

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

**All Magic Leaves Traces**

* * *

**_Sydney Australia: Easter Day,1998_**

Ninety-four year old James Warren Jr sat patiently in the Wilkin's foyer as Monika set to making tea in the kitchen.

The dentist power-couple were clearly doing well for themselves, if the fact that they could afford renovating the old Victorian house was any indication. And yet, somehow, they couldn't be bothered to buy furniture that wasn't murder on an older man's back? He wasn't one to complain about such things, but surely there were better materials for guests to sit on other than bamboo.

"Here we are. I hope you like cinnamon." The bushy-haired doctor proclaimed as she returned with a silver tray sporting a steaming kettle, a plate of biscuits, a bowl of sugar and two matching teacups.

James smiled at the young woman as she placed the appetizers on an end table.

"Indeed I do. We've only just met and yet you've already got me pegged."

She blushed diplomatically as she poured them both cups. He busied himself by setting up his briefcase-computer on the opposite end table.

"I've never seen anything like that before." Mrs Wilkins pointed out as he exposed the advanced piece of technology.

Indeed, it was unlike any other portable computer on the market today. This one had been custom-built by his own son, Jimmy, who had clearly taken after his grandfather. But unlike James Warren Sr, Jim forsook aeroplane design in favor of computer engineering. This latest gift of his looked more like a series of rotating processors and sensors than an honest-to-god computer. It was a particularly specialized machine, one designed to aid him in detecting energies of the more _magical_ variety.

"A new model of laptop. It's ugly, but it's perfect for conducting interviews. You, um, don't mind being recorded do you?"

She waved his concern away and gave him the go-ahead. With a single flip of a switch the Myrtle came to life, whirring and clicking away as the minuscule screen displayed a series of runic symbols that only he knew the meaning of.

They hadn't even begun and yet he already had most of the information he needed.

"Please, remind me, when will Mr Wilkins be home?" He pried.

"He's running the practice alone today, so there really is no telling." The lady doctor explained. "Buuuut if you really must interview him as well, he'll be home alone come Tuesday while I handle the office."

James nodded his assent to that and pressed on with his actual purpose in being here.

"I'm sure this is a strange turn of events, but I tracked you and your husband down due to your possible relation to a missing person I've been investigating as of late." He explained. She perked up at the declaration but didn't interrupt. "Does the name, Hermione Jean Granger, mean anything to you?"

It was subtle, but when you've interviewed as many people who've suffered the same tragedy as them you notice the signs. The little ticks that give away a faint recollection blocked off from you. The niggling suspicion that something was missing from your life.

It all just went to further confirm what the Myrtle Machine had already proclaimed. This woman had been mind-wiped. Just like THEY had done to his own wife. Just like THEY had tried to do to him those fifty-five years ago.

"It... rings familiar." Monika confessed. "But for the life of me I can't connect a face to the name."

James nodded sadly as he emotionally braced himself for what would come soon.

"She is a young woman who should be nearly eighteen years of age." He explained. "And yet, some seven years ago she simply vanished off the face of the Earth."

Monika Wilkins hung onto his every word with an expression of utmost concentration. She was clearly the studious type. He felt very confident in the health of her and her husband's patients.

"She most certainly existed, for I have managed to track down her school and medical records all the way up until she turned twelve." He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a thick manila envelope as he went on. "And this is where you come in."

He handed the envelope over and Mrs Wilkins wasted no time in opening it to leaf through the contents.

"I would like to direct your attention to the names of miss Granger's parents as listed on all of said medical and school records."

She did as he instructed and seemed to do a double take.

James could only hold his breath as Mrs "Wilkins" tried to blink her confusion away at the information. He then watched the denial as she compared the information with that of the other documents, all the way to the birth certificate at the back.

"Wendell and Monika Granger." She whispered breathlessly.

She turned her gaze back to him, more curious than frightened or surprised.

"I admit this is one incredible coincidence, but my husband and I have always gone by the last name of Wilkins." She explained. "Well, he has, I've share his last name for..."

"Almost nineteen years?" He interrupted.

Her expression turned vacant at the accusatory claim and he knew his time was short.

"I'm afraid to say the coincidences don't end with the date of her birth occurring exactly nine months after you and your husband's honeymoon." He told her. "But you may want to take a look at the addresses listed for Mr and Mrs Granger."

This shook her out of her reverie but her shock was soon replaced with rage when she flung the stack of papers away from her with a yelp as she no doubt realized the address listed for the Grangers was her own prior address.

"Who are you?!" She demanded as she rose to her feet.

By now the Myrtle Mchine was going haywire as the sensors picked up on the memory charm slowly breaking, but he remained in his seat throughout and made calming motions with his hands when her fear-induced rage came to bear on him.

"I told you. I am a detective." He consoled. "I am not affiliated with any law enforcement, I'm just trying to figure out what is happening to these children. Yes, there are many others beside miss Granger. So be not afraid, I am not here to accuse you and your husband of anything."

She slowly accepted his words and returned to her seat.

Experience told James that it was best to let silence take over for a moment. This was delicate work, and he needed to drop the bombshells strategically or else the trauma could kill her. Like it did his own wife, and almost did to him.

She sipped on her tea with shaking hands and James decided it must be cool enough now to drink.

It was quite good.

"So, what are your suspicions exactly?" Monika pleaded.

He sighed dramatically. It was time to lay on the deception. He was becoming a better actor with each try.

"You must know how this looks?" He told her. "To an outside observer it would appear that you and your husband changed your name this last year and fled the United Kingdom. It might also appear that you had a daughter who disappeared all those years ago and yet you never reported her missing. Were I not knowledgeable on similar cases I would suspect foul play on your part, but I know better."

She was shaking again, almost vibrating. When they started shivering with a cold sweat he always knew it was close to happening.

"Now, I need you to be completely honest with me." He told her just above a whisper, leaning forward for added effect. "Did somebody threaten you to keep what happened to her secret? Did somebody take your daughter?"

The flood gates broke.

"We don't have a daughter! We never did! I swear!" Monika pleaded, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as the facial ticks became all the more pronounced. "We always wanted one so bad, but we never could. You have to believe me!"

James smiled consolingly, and for a few moments he said nothing at all.

When the silence dragged on long enough he stood up and retrieved the documents from the floor. Stowing them back into the envelope he closed down the Myrtle device and made like he was ready to leave.

There was just one more thing.

"I have to return to England to continue my search for the girl." He told her as he reached into his coat pocket one last time. "I don't have particularly high hopes, as you two were my biggest clue."

He pulled out a folder photograph and placed it on the tea tray.

"Perhaps you can make more of it than I can. I'd like to hope so at least. I've seen too many of these cases go unresolved."

With that done, he put his hat back on and exited through the front door. He was nearly upon the rental car when he heard the scream.

It was a high, bone-chilling scream of pure, unadulterated misery. The same scream that accompanied every victim who he'd forced to remember. This one was different from the others. The sorrow wasn't as bottomless as theirs, and it was mixed with something else.

If he wasn't very much mistaken, Monika Granger was enraged. He couldn't be sure if this was a good thing, or a bad thing. None of the others had joined him in his crusade, either too afraid or too broken to fight an impossible war. But this one?

James Warren could only chuckle. He suspected he'd be seeing the Grangers again very soon.

For now, he needed to get back to Dartmoor. To the Roberts family campsite. Those three were coming to remember the most _interesting_ things.

* * *

**Notes:**

**TORCHWOOD-Archivist Wrote:**

Oh, now this is fantastic! I have to roll my eyes that you use American terminology rather than the British equivalent but, you can't win everything. Do keep on updating, this is the first story I've been hooked on in quite awhile.

**Response:**

I try to stick to english terminology where it occurs to me that it might be different. I desperately need a British proofreader to help me with that.


	3. Chapter 3: Interception

**Chapter 3:**

**Interception**

* * *

**Note:**

** I have recently come to the realization that I have vehemently avoided writing proper action scenes. It's an area of writing I must have subconsciously shied away from. That ends today. **

**In this and future chapters I earn an M rating through sheer force of bloody violence. Enjoy.**

* * *

Harry sat in in the shadow of an old oak tree, head down and eyes closed. It had been seven days since he killed Draco, and he had only just recovered enough from the ritual to move about.

Scratch that, it was nearing sunset. Make that eight days.

Even with the aid of potions he brewed beforehand his liver still had not regrown.(Apparently livers do that. It was the reason he chose that amongst the internal organs available.) A routine of nutrition, metabolizing, detoxifying and blood filtration potions would ensure he recovered within another week, instead of the months it would take unaided.

The fact that they all tasted like shit, with a similar consistency, did little for his mood. The inane conversations he was eavesdropping on didn't either

"Do you think he's ever going to come for us?"

That one was Colin's voice. He was talking to Dennis. From what he could gather they were in the long-abandoned parts of the dungeons of Hogwarts. The ones used for interrogating enemies back when it was exclusively a fortress for war and now used for detention. The Death Eaters in charge of the school had taken to using them for detentions.

He turned the dial on the Deluminator and a new voice erupted from it's mouth.

"He's dead. I'm sure of it." This one was a woman. An older one by the sound of it. "If he were alive he'd have saved us by now. Look what happened to our home! The Harry Potter of legend would never..."

Click.

"Oh yes he did! I've seen the sword. It used to be on Dumbledore's desk."

"What do you mean used to be?"

Click. Harry already knew that story.

"Was it really that bad?"

Harry perked up at this one. This girl's voice sounded vaguely familiar

"No worse than my first kiss with Cedric." Cho said, almost defensively.

Oh. Cho is still friends with the sneak.

"Wait, we were just talking about kissing?" Mariette Edgecomb whined. "I was more curious about...

"Harry and I never did that." Cho cut off rather angrily. "I could never get that far with him. He was always so... distant."

Click. He'd heard enough.

Again and again he flipped the Deluminator to a new conversation. Somehow none of his trio had ever thought of taking advantage of the device's hidden function. It stunned Harry that Hermione didn't make the connection when Ron told them it shared their conversation with him when they said his name.

"Such a terrible power, wouldn't you agree?" The shade of Dumbledore offered from where he floated.

It took being outright told by the old man how to use it to start actively doing so. This device explained so many of the mysteries surrounding Dumbledore. How he knew so much that he shouldn't.

To think he could eavesdrop on any conversation about him, whether his name was outright mentioned or not. He could think of several conversations he was mortified to know the deceased headmaster had heard firsthand.

This revelation had brought a whole new wave of shame, both for him and his deceased friends who had been there when Dumbledore explained he had planned for them to figure it out near the start of their journey and use the device to gather intel. He had put much more stock in their abilities than they deserved, clearly.

At this point the Gaunt ring, and by extensions, resurrection stone never left his hand. His left, unmarred hand. He wore it on the ring finger, figuring it made sense for him to be symbolically wed to the deceased.

"It is." Harry confirmed, eyes still closed. "I liked it better when I could take people's views of me at face value, as they expressed them."

It was so much better to simply assume people's opinions of you, but to truly know them beyond a doubt hurt. A lot. It could make any man cynical.

"He wouldn't even LOOK at me." Romilda Vain complained, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. "What's wrong with me? I dieted for weeks before working up the courage to speak with him. Is it my face? Are my breasts too large? Pansy always teases that guys find large ones disgusting. And now he probably hates me after I gave him..."

Click. He didn't need to hear Ramilda's friend rant about how Harry preferred brooms to Quaffles. He'd already heard the same argument given to the girls he'd rejected for the Yule Ball. He didn't need to hear it again.

Besides, the self-demeaning complaints these girls screamed on about always made his heart ache, while simultaneously annoying the shit out of him.

A lot of the people talking about him were girls, or women. Oddly enough, romantic fantasizing made up the minority of these conversations. Most were cursing his name or just pondering his safety. Maybe men had more important things to do than gossip about a teenager? Still, he'd listened to Mrs Weasley break down in worry over him no less that three times that day and...

"We've found his family."

Harry's eyes snapped open and he nearly injured his neck as he turned his head a little too quickly to share a surprised look with Dumbledore.

"They're under constant guard, taken in shifts."

"How many guards?"

"Just two. A man and a woman. Order members who haven't gotten the memo yet, if I'm not mistaken."

They were talking about the Dursleys!

"Daedelus and Hestia are formidable, nigh undefeatable together." Albus consoled. But the man hadn't become a leader without a healthy dose of realism. "But taking shifts means one will be exhausted and unprepared for a surprise attack. Especially a well-planned one."

Harry nodded and stood up, ready to go grab his other half.

"Where are they?" Harry demanded.

"If I'm not mistaken, they should be in safehouse seventeen, located in Sheffield. Call on me when you get to the city and I will guide you there."

Harry nodded before canceling the magic of the resurrection stone, twisting the ring off his finger and putting it back on. He'd yet to figure out how to dismiss the dead save by ending physical contact with the stone.

With the flip of a switch he activated the Deluminator's most miraculous function. A ball of light erupted from it and pierced his chest. With a twist he disapparated and reappeared in the park adjacent Grimmauld place.

What a coincidence.

So, they were using the Black family home as a base of operations to plan attacks on Order safehouse. Good thing he'd stationed a pair of spies to watch it.

"Do we have orders to attack it?"

Harry kept the Deluminator close to his ear, the other tuned to the fluttering of metallic wings.

"No. A team is already being assembled. There are debates on whether to send an Auror team to make it look legitimate."

His Horcrux flew from a tree where it had been spying. It opened to reveal Moody's eye, a modification it's former owner insisted Harry make. It was a good thing he had performed the Horcrux ritual right next to the tree he had burried the old Auror's greatest tool, as he doubted he could apparate during the early staged of his recovery. He'd barely manged to walk the ten feet to dig it up, but it was paying dividends.

His other half flitted about his face attempting to make eye contact. It was clearly intent on speaking to him through the mind.

Communication through legilimacy came easy to those who shared a soul, or fragments of one, and when they spoke through eye contact they almost felt whole again. But now wasn't the time.

Harry held up a finger to his lips and the Snitch closed.

"Why would they care if it's legitimate?"

"The Dark Lord wants to show the world what kind of people raised their _savior_. From what I understand they're rather repulsive, even by Muggle standards. Putting them on display would be a deathly blow to his followers."

Followers? Harry didn't have any of those. An oversight he needed to remedy soon if he was to win this war, and allowing these psychopaths to take out five readily available to him would be a poor start to his recruiting efforts.

It didn't help that their plan, to show the wizarding world his early life, would indeed cause irreparable damage not only to his reputation, but to the morale of those who put their hope in him. It would seem Voldemort's abilities in psychological warfare were as great as any other of his powers.

He turned his attention back to the Snitch.

_What's the situation?_

Harry answered the question written in it's surface by motioning for it to open. Soon they were filling each-other's mind's with the other's most recent memories, and he immediately regretted seeing what was going on in that house.

The Snatchers and low-tier Death Eaters were not merely loitering and using the war room to make plans, but had also turned the upper rooms into a brothel. Their disregard for the humanity of Muggles was never more blatant or disgusting than with the display of chained women and boys in the bedrooms. In HIS bedrooms.

Most of them were actively dying with fever from urinary tract infections or infected anal fissures and resulting sepsis from fecal matter and foreign bodily fluids entering their blood streams.

He needed to put an end to this right now.

"Sirius Orion Black." He spoke into the ring, and his godfather appeared.

"Regulus Arcturus Black." He spoke again, and behold, he had possession of the entire set Slughorn could never possess.

"Walburga Black."

This time nothing happened. Weird. That was the first time he'd called for somebody and they hadn't come.

"Harry..." Sirius broached, but Harry wasn't interested in a heart-to-heart.

"The ancient and Noble house of Black is being occupied by enemies." Harry informed the two brothers. "Pathetic servants of Tom Riddle who have desecrated its halls with their sexual degeneracy."

He had never seen Sirius change from concerned to pissed so fast in his life, and with matching expressions the Black brothers were nearly as indistinguishable as Fred and George.

"What do you need of us?" Regulus demanded.

"Any information on activating wards or protections to expel them, or how to circumvent them and execute the trespassers."

The brothers pondered for a moment, but a moment was all it took.

"That they are even able to remain in there is impossible without the permission of a Black Patriarch or Matriarch." Regulus explained. "They are being helped by somebody else with the authority to grant passage."

"That's impossible." Sirius countered. "I left headship to Harry, he is the only person alive with the right to claim authority over the property and it's protections."

A lightbulb went off in Harry's head.

"It's possible that Cissy or Bella, or both, working together, could have tried to take ownership as Matriarchal heads." Regulus suggested. "Or there could have been a marriage contract for one of us, or Harry, that we didn't know about."

"Impossible, and impossible." Sirius said. "Authority given to heads by marriage is not accessible until the marriage is made legitimate by ceremony and subsequently consummated. Which we know is not the case because all three of us are virgins."

Gee. Say it a little louder why don't you? Wait. All three of them?

"You two have never...?" Harry broached.

"A gentleman of a Noble house waits until their wedding night, Potter." Regulus defended.

"That, and Azkaban wasn't the best place to court a wife, despite my incestuous, and willing, cousin being in the cell beside me and offering to shag through the bars." Sirius half-joked.

Ew. You learn something unexpected every day. For better or worse.

"Maybe that was why she killed me. Woman scored and all that." Sirius pondered aloud.

Regulus to the rescue.

"I understand you were a drinker though, Sirius. Are you sure you never hooked up with any order women who might have turned?" The younger brother suggested.

The look Sirius gave him was a mix of derision and amusement.

"Oh yes, I'm sure Molly secretly divorced Arthur and took advantage of me while ripped out of my mind on vodka. All that bitching she did at me was her way of trying to express the deep, dark desires she just couldn't..."

"Okay! I get it!" Harry finally interrupted when the mental imagery became too much for his empty stomach to handle.

But his original idea came back to him.

"What if a former head of the house was still around?" Harry suggested. "A lady of house Black with Matriarchal privileges."

The brothers didn't even bother considering this.

"That's impossible." Said Regulus.

"The last Matriarch of house Black was our mother, and she... Ooooooooh."

Sirius had apparently figured it out.

"What? What am I not getting here?" Regulus asked confusedly.

But Harry and Sirius were too deep in thought to answer.

All the evidence supported it. She had Matriarchal privileges and had full authority while Sirius was imprisoned. She supposedly died a few years after his wrongful incarceration, and they were a dark family. After all, he hadn't even needed to explain Horcruxes to Sirius like he had with his own parents and Moody. And Regulus had figured out Voldemort's secret independently.

It explained why Kreacher followed orders from the accursed portrait, and might be why he lied to Harry and got Sirius killed. Because she had ordered him to.

Most importantly, it explained why she hadn't come when he summoned her through the resurrection stone.

"Our mother isn't dead." Sirius concluded.

Realization didn't dawn on Regulus until after Harry withdrew Gryffindor's sword.

"Looks like we have an unexpected Horcrux to destroy then." Said Regulus. "I'm going to enjoy watching this far more than I should."

* * *

They waited the last hour until nightfall before making any kind of move.

Being so close to the Snitch allowed Harry could watch through it's eyes, er, eye as his other self examined the activities going on within house. The information splayed all across the drawing room table and walls was a gold mine, and Harry couldn't be certain that he'd have the chance to peruse them later.

They had information on most, if not all, surviving order members and their safehouse, including Shell Cottage. Though the only ones with active raids planned were for the Dursley's safehouse and the Tonks home.

At least now he knew where to go after rescuing the Dursleys.

Sneaking through the alley between numbers Eleven and Twelve Grimmauld Place revealed two unexpected discoveries. First, Regulus shared Sirius' love for motorcycles. Second, number Twelve Grimmauld Place had a landline!

"You'd never catch our parents dead using the phone." Regulus had said. "But it made getting Muggle food a breeze."

Sirius nodded at that.

"Greasy, nasty, fattening Muggle food that no member of a Noble house should consume."

Harry couldn't fight the groan from that. They knew he couldn't risk eating real food until his liver grew back. It was damned cruel of them to throw that in his face right now.

He distracted himself by approaching Regulus' motorcycle.

It was draped in a dusty cover, but the shape of it was still rather obvious. With a single motion he flung the cover aside and gazed.

"Royal Enfield Bullet." Regulus explained as Harry ran his hands along the vibrant blue beast of metal and leather. "Whereas Sirius is a Triumph Fag."

"Hey now, it was a matter of what the used lot had, not of brand loyalty." Sirius countered. "I bought what felt best betwixt my thighs."

Harry shook his head at their antics.

"Any magical modifications to the Bullet?" He asked Regulus.

"Oh yes! It can fly, naturally, but it also has a magically expanded gas tank, every part needing oil is charmed frictionless - but I'd suggest checking on those charms and recharging them as necessary, though an oil change won't be necessary - and of course the cushion is enchanted to be extra comfortable."

"Oh no, I already performed all the maintenance it needs before I died." Sirius countered. "Still been sitting still for a good year and a half, so might need a little R and R, but it should be good to go."

"Just run of the mill maintenance, I hope." Regulus growled to his brother.

Sirius answered by way of an outright demonic grin.

Looks like Harry would be having fun discovering the modifications Sirius made to it.

As they talked Harry examined a strange cavity near the handlebar and reached into it. Grasping something cool and wooden he withdrew it and blinked in surprise.

"And that would be my peace maker." Regulus said

"But it's a shotgun?" Sirius observed.

And indeed it was. A single barrel combat shotgun, shorter in length than Vernon's double-barrel, but sporting an odd revolver chamber with colorful symbols engraved into it.

"Your point?"

"Peace makers are pistols."

"Well, I decided my shotty was deserving of the moniker."

And oh, was it ever. The automatic shotgun was a sleek black and looked like something an overzealous swat team would employ. If a scene wasn't peaceful before this dispenser of death was deployed, it would certainly be so afterwards.

Harry returned it to the holster.

"Not my style." He told his ghostly companions.

Just then his Snitch returned, bobbing and weaving to get Harry's attention. He opened their connection and realized why.

"The invaders are making a phone call, but my soul brother still hasn't mastered lip-reading . Is there a way to listen in?" Harry informed/asked the Black brothers.

Sure, there were the extendable ears, but even those were enough to trip the wards.

Sirius and Regulus shared a knowing look, then indicated the circuit box and a strange knob next to the circuit for the phone line. It was a receiver for an old wall-mounted phone, the kind shaped like a horn you had to hold up to your ear.

He lifted it and held it up to his ear.

"Thank you for calling Pizza Teepee_(TM)_, may I take your oder?" A cutesy girlish voice answered.

Harry shared a glance with the Black brothers. The looks on their faces perfectly expressed his internal question.

They couldn't be that stupid. Could they?

"Hello, it's us at Number 12 again, we'd like another one of your two large three topping specials."

Yup. They were, in fact, stupid enough to disregard all security protocols and reveal the magically protected location to an ancient and noble house to a Muggle restaurant.

"Oh! How much extra is it for the stuffed crust again?"

At this point, Harry was doing Voldemort a favor by executing these morons.

* * *

The moment the Death Eater finished making his order saw Harry apparating to the nearby mall strip he knew the Pizza Teepee_(TM)_ to be.

Donning his invisibility cloak he snuck inside behind a returning delivery boy - who looked eerily similar to Stan Shunpike - and waited for the order to be finished. Fifteen minutes later that same delivery boy was handed a large, square leather bag bound for Grimmauld Place and as soon as they were out the door Harry nailed him with the Imperius

With that out of the way he apparated back to the alley between numbers eleven and twelve where the shades of Sirius and Regulus still waited. Oops. Failing to dismiss them apparently leaves them stuck on this plane. Best to be careful of that in the future.

"All right. I think we have a plan." Sirius began.

And in the time it took for Shunpike Jr to arrive they'd finished sharing the strategy with him. It was much riskier, and much more violent, than Harry's plan to sprinkle a slow acting poison on the pizza and then sneak in under the cloak to silently slaughter the survivors, but he was feeling antsy and in need of proper excitement after so many days resting.

Little Stan arrived in record time, but due to the commands through Harry's Imperius curse parked quietly a few doors down and sneaked up to the alley.

While Harry dug through the Mokeskin pouch for the items they would need - something he should have finished prepping during their wait - the shade of Regulus walked behind the delivery boy and entered him as if putting on a skin suit.

The mischievous look in the Muggle's eyes was all the proof they needed to see that the possession was a resounding success.

"We can do that?!" Sirius exclaimed, echoeing Harry's sentiment.

This changes everything.

"You can get the next pizza boy." Regulus mocked Sirius with a wink.

Regulus then helped himself to the assortment of WWW fireworks and rockets Harry had dumped onto the ground. He emptied the leather box of it's contents and replaced them with said fireworks to the point that it was bursting at the seams.

Harry give Regu-pike the sword, which he tucked into the back of his belt in such a way as to conceal it from anybody he was facing. They were all ready to go, just as soon as Regulus finished stuffing his face with the first bit of food he'd enjoyed in almost twenty years.

"Well, here goes nothing." Regulus sighed as he walked up the steps and knocked on the door to his childhood home.

Harry stared at the remains of pizza and wastefully discarded crust left in the box at his feet.

He would sorely regret it later when his body inevitably rejects the high carb sinfulness, but what was the point of immortality if you didn't live a little? Besides, the crust was his favorite part of pizza. Especially since that's all the Dursleys had left for him growing up on the occasions they ordered any.

Soon enough the hungry moron whose earlier phone conversation lead to this opportunity stumbled to the door and answered it. The Snatcher doesn't even finish opening before Regulus hurls the leather bag over his head and into the hallway beyond and charging through after it.

The Snatcher's grunt at being bodily flung by a scrawny sixteen year old is immediately drowned out by the chaos of light and sound erupting from the black pizza carrier. Less than a second later Harry initiates the second phase of the plan with a similar speed and efficiency to that of his Goduncle.

"Kreacher!" Harry bellowed over the sparking green and red Christmas fireworks smashing against the window just above his head.

Said house elf materializes and is immediately stunned. He was too much of a liability with his split loyalties, willing seditionist or no, but would be less so when Walburga's portrait was dealt with.

"Dobby!" Harry yelled again, still without fear of being heard over the sparkling gold dragon that just crashed through that same window and ascended skyward towards the roof with a mighty roar.

The second house elf appeared and Harry wasted no time in dispensing orders.

"Take Kreacher somewhere safe and keep him sedated until I call you back here!" He yelled over the noise.

Dobby nodded eagerly and disappeared with his older counterpart.

Onto part three.

Harry donned the cloak and sent the Snitch skyward to give him a top down view of the entire premises. Closing his eyes he executed a technique they had long practiced and prayed it would finally pay off.

Closing his eyes he focused on all other senses except for sight and allowed the viewpoint of his Horcrux to take over. He could see himself from above as if in an out of body experience, while still possessed of his own sense of smell, taste, touch and hearing.

He stepped over the convulsing body of Regulus' first victim, the black mass of necrosticizing flesh due to basilisk venom all the more vivid through Moody's eye, and into the hailstorm of fireworks. The hallway was actively aflame and he would have been blind were it not for his Horcrux.

He casted the flame freezing charm and charged through to the kitchen where Regulus is actively blocking killing curses with Gryffindor's sword like a fucking Jedi. With one wave of Draco's wand the ceiling caves in, bringing with it three lower level Death Eaters from the study above.

He knew the remaining forces were descending the stairs to flank the intruders at this very moment, so they needed to finish cleaning up here. Fortunately, the two surviving snatchers from the cave-in were rather stunned from seeing their four companions reduced to clothed puddles of marinara sauce, and the trio of Death Eaters still hadn't recovered from their own fall.

"Accio!" Harry bellowed, willing a particularly sharp pipe to fly towards him as Regulus cleaved the Death Eater closest to him shoulder to crotch with the poisonous blade.

Sadly, a second Death Eater stood directly in the path of the copper tube and it never reached Harry. How was he supposed to get any of the plumbing repaired if Voldemort's followers kept getting in the way? He really needed to start a workplace safety seminar or something.

By now the entire pile of debris was soaked through from the massive spouts of water coming from above, hence the need for plumbing repairs.

Likewise, the third Death Eater had drawn his wand and the two surviving Snatchers had trained theirs on Regulus, who still hadn't raised the sword back up from the earlier downswing.

The noise of fireworks around them and seizure-inducing flashes of lights were still masking all hints of Harry's presence and he fully intended to use that to his advantage.

"Fulgur obsidian!" Harry bellowed again, still not loud enough to be heard above the roaring of the dragon firework that had somehow made its' way back inside.

The bolt of black lightning surged past Regulus, who was now backing away from the soaking pile of wood, metal and flesh that was Harry's target.

Not only did it react with the water as intended, but it dispatched all three of his enemies in a gruesome display of sparks, spasming muscles and bursting eye balls.

That last gruesome display he had not expected, but he turned his gaze away from the hollow cavities where the trios eyes used to be as their smoking bodies fell to the wet ground and focussed his attention on Regulus.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Regulus nodded and, with an upward flick of hawthorn and unicorn hair, he was sent flying upwards into the study.

He didn't quite make it high enough to land on his feet so he flung the sword onto what little of the floor remained and grabbed hold of the ledge. Harry watched as he hoisted himself up with a grunt, overcoming what must be an extreme amount of pain as railway spike sized splinters tore into his arms and legs with his every movement.

Phase three, fast and hard assault, was complete. Now for phase four, stall while Regulus destroys the portrait.

Harry turned his wand on the pile of debris and limbs. With a wide sweeping motion he covered the kitchen door with it. A few twists and turns of his wrist saw the jagged mass melt into a solid, vining barrier.

It wouldn't hold off his fast-approaching attackers for very long, but it would give them a sense of having the upper hand. After all, when somebody barricades themselves it means they're on the defensive. Right?

Wrong.

Harry raised his wand into the air and started a series of small s-curve motions. It was a specialized version of the summoning charm Fred and George had programmed into their fireworks. A trade secret known only to the two owners and their sole investor.

Every single firework in and around the building came to him through the collapsed ceiling and coalesced into a sphere above his head. It pulsed with life like a red and green disco ball of fire and lightning with a steady heart rhythm.

It was ready to be unleashed onto the first few fools to burst in through his barricade. The trio of fools he could see from the Snitches vantage point would breach in 3...2...1.

With a roar the dragon firework lead the charge with a boar, humming bird and reindeer following close on it's tail. They rammed into the oncoming death eaters and blew right through them. Literally.

The stamped of smoke and gore continue up the stairs lighting all in it's path aflame, stopping only when Harry redirected it back downwards into the Death Eaters who were smart enough to cast protections on their person.

Harry charged out after it and, for the second time in his life, cast the killing curse. The Death Eater fell to his curse and the second met the same fate when he failed to recognize it as such due to many of the harassing fireworks sharing a similar hue of green.

The third caught on and bolted over the railing to the first floor landing, charging through an adjacent door before Harry could paint said railing with her brain matter.

He followed the mop of stringy blonde hair into the downstairs drawing room and unleashed a second bombarda at the burning curtains, behind which he knew she was hiding with the use of a self fire-proofing charm. How was she to know he had seen her hide there?

The force of his overpowered spell sent her mangled body crashing through the window and onto the small patch of grass that passed for a front yard.

She was fortunately still within the wards so the Muggle neighbors wouldn't see her, despite now flooding the streets in search of the horrific noise.

There were a dozen more Death Eaters and Snatchers in the topmost floor, who were now trying to fill their bags with as many of the Black family tomes as possible in anticipation of escape.

But they were too late.

Regulus was upon Walburga's portrait and Harry barely made it to the first flight of stairs in time to witness him plunge Godric's sword into her breast, burying the blade into the wall all the way to it's hilt.

Her agonized scream was the first thing to have overpower the sound of the fireworks, aside from the crashing debris Harry had dropped on the Snatchers of course.

The death scream of the Horcrux dying sent a rippled through the air that killed all light and sound thereafter, temporarily deactivating the fireworks and lamps and all other charms in the building. But not the wards or enchantments.

Harry had broken contact with his own Horcrux in order to witness her demise with his own eyes so couldn't check if the other Death Eaters had escaped yet, but he still wasted no time.

He withdrew the same silver knife he had used for a very different ritual just a week before and slashed open his good hand with it.

"I am Harry James Potter. Godson of Sirius Orion Black and patriarchal heir to the most ancient and noble house of Black." Harry bellowed into the silence as the floor drank in his blood where it landed. "I declare all Muggle guests to be under my protection and all magical guests to be intruders. So mote it be."

The entire house creaked and moaned as the very space within it warped in recognition of the change of authority and it searched it's premises for any person matching the newly defined terms of intruder.

The screams echoing from the upstairs library told Harry that, no, the Death Eaters had not escaped. And they never would.

Grimmauld place has a special way of dealing with intruders. Trapping them in place and slowly squeezing the life out of them as the space around them warps to crush them. It was a slow process that takes hours, long enough for a head of house to personally check on them and decide if they want to deal the killing blow themselves or leave them to die.

"The battle is done." The shade of Sirius said as it approached from behind Harry.

No. Not yet.

"Dobby." He called.

The elf appeared a few seconds later with a newly conscious Kreacher. He was clearly just woken up, as per Harry's earlier instruction.

"Kreacher, Dobby, you are to do your best to heal the boys and women in the bedrooms before releasing them." He told them. "They are not to see you, but I want you to lead them to the surviving Death Eaters and Snatchers."

They both nodded, but waited for further instruction. They were able to sense when he had more to say.

"Ensure that there is an assortment of knives and other vengeance dispensing tools near said enemies of the house."

They both nodded, Kreacher doing so with an evil grin, before disappearing.

Harry thought about it and realized that grin had not been in anticipation of the Muggle victims dispensing revenge.

"Kreacher!"

The elf reappeared.

"You are not to allow our unwilling guests to harm themselves or one another, nor leave the premises until I return. Am I understood?"

The elf had the nerve to grumpily kick at the ground at being found out before nodding and disappearing again.

"Ah, good old Kreacher." Regulus chuckled as he descended the stairs to join him and Sirius, nearly slipping on the puddles of gore and pulverized flesh.

Harry looked him over to find he was utterly covered in the black sludge he associated with a destroyed Horcrux. Along with no small amounts of burns and ash.

"Switch." Harry ordered.

The dark spectre of Regulus fled from the teenager's body and, before the poor Muggle could catch his bearings, Sirius entered.

"Sirius, you stay here and watch over things. You're really good at the therapy thing. Regulus, you're riding bitch on the Bullet."

"I'll make sure they're all showered, fed and properly acquainted with human anatomy by the time you get back." Sirius nodded as Regulus sputtered indignantly.

Harry ignored the younger brother's objection and walked through his incorporeal form to the front door, stepping over the now still Snatcher at the doorway.

"I need a crash course in motorcycle riding, and seeing as it's your bike, you will be my teacher. Now come on, we have to get to Sheffield yesterday."

* * *

**Notes:**

That came out WAY better than I expected. Especially considering I sort of disregarded my outline for the latter half of the chapter and made it up as I went along.

So yeah. My first ever action scene. Apparently I'm good at writing action. I'll strive to include more of it in all future writing.

I hope you enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4: When Dreams Come True

**Chapter 4:**

**When Dreams Come True**

* * *

Dudley was dreaming again.

He was older now, just like in most of the horrific dreams he'd been plagued with for the last week. He was likewise paralyzed, an observer in his own body. Though he still felt every movement of muscle and fabric on his skin as he stomped through the dark, cramped tunnel.

"Pooling fallout ahead. Gas masks and radiation shielding." A young woman's voice called out ahead of him. He couldn't see her, but had been in the same company for all of these dreams and recognized it as Gabrielle's.

He felt the plastic cover slide over his face and the clear visor displayed a series of numbers. One told him the time left on the new filter, a good thirty minutes. A trio of numbers on the right kept him informed on radiation level for each type, gamma beta and alpha. With the press of a button on his glove a soft glow enveloped him.

A magical protection, he knew.

Seconds later they reached the pool Gabrielle had warned them of. It sat beneath a cave-in and absolutely bubbled with radiatioactive heat. Falling in would mean a slow, agonizing death later, if not an immediate and relatively painless death from any unnatural creature lurking within it.

They couldn't walk through it, or risk going around it for fear of being grabbed by some wretched _thing_ forced to adapt to such an environment.

That left the skylight. Long slabs of asphalt hung from it, and with a quick activation of sticking charms on their gloves and boots they leaped up onto said slabs and climbed up like a pack of oversized geckos.

In the light of the nearing dawn he could see his companions. The older, red-haired man with the dragon tooth earrings named Bill was his second in command, the 20 year-old part Veela Gabrielle was his unit's point-man, his friend Piers and a black-haired Veela name Asdramora were the firepower.

They were unit zero of the Veela Corps. Whatever that was.

"This is unit zero. Target is eight clicks north of us. Any enemy activity in the area? Over." Bill called over the comm.

The comm beeped to announce an incoming response.

"Unit three here. Not much to report outside if a small pack of lichennthropes. Over." Malcom called.

"Unit five reporting. Similar activity on our end. Over." Pandora, another full-blooded Veela, called.

"Same for unit nine. Except we've passed two smaller packs. Be advised on possible herd formation. Over." Gordon called.

Well shit. Best to get a move on to avoid being torn apart by an unorganized batallion of were-lions, were-tigers and were-bears.

"All units continue towards the target." He heard himself say. "Remain hidden and do not spook any packs or, god forbid, a herd.

The captains of unit three, five and nine all confirmed his orders with a rugged "Rodger" and Dudley continued to lead his own team onward

Removing their masks and canceling their radiation shielding they crawled out of the crater whose bottom formed the pit they'd just climbed out of and got their first view of Tokyo, or what remained of it.

Shattered towers of glass and steel hovered like space debris above the scorched concrete and mutated flora below. Most of the Japanese skyscrapers still stood to this day, though the nuclear arnagehealfire and blasting winds had turned them into willowy sculptures of melted modernism.

The city looked like a blown up version of a Disney haunted forest.

"First to step foot here in almost eight years." Piers pointed out. "Part of me wants to feel reverent to a beautiful culture the world will never see again, but if there's anything left of the Japanese people I pray we don't encounter it."

The others let his statement hang in the air as they pushed forward.

They didn't encounter much resistance, save for a few deer and rabbits still doing whatever it is they do in waning green light of the moon. Yes. The moon was green now. Green and blue actually. Dudley couldn't quite figure that one out, best he could guess is someone saw fit to terraform it in this strange future.

"Alert. Stormhead inbound." A woman's voice echoed into his helmit

"What? You're only seeing fit to tell us now?" Someone, Malcolm by the sounds of it, screamed over the comm.

Fleur's tired and wheezing voice carried over the airwaves again.

"Satellite imagery shows it only just formed. If it were a natural typhoon you would have known about it in the mission briefing."

That didn't sound good.

"What do you mean if it was natural?" Bill broached the question on everyone's mind. "Are you implying it's artificial? How is that possible?"

Fleur's response wasn't promising.

"We don't know. We're as disturbed by this new development as you are."

Somehow, Dudley sincerely doubted that. He barked a quick order to cut down the chatter and get back to the task at hand. As usual his team reached the target before the other units even arrived at the city limits.

They stood at the precipice of a gaping wound in the earth, one that could easily be mistaken for a rock quary or coal mining operation were it not perfectly cylindrical in shape and lined with concrete. It was an entrance to the legendary flood tunnels beneath Tokyo. So vast and expansive were these tunnels that an entire magical city, the Las Vegas of the magical world, once sat comfortably within it's embrace.

All attempts to reach out to potential survivors of the tungsten-cobalt warhead had failed thus far, and any hope of finding any now came with an immense amount of fear. Fear of they must have become in order to survive.

It's a good thing they weren't here to find any such survivors.

"Stairs look surprisingly intact." Piers pointed out.

And indeed, they did. Like a mile long fire escape it descended into the chasm. It would be an arduous climb down, and Dudley wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Let's not risk it." Dudley said. "Wings."

At his command all four of his companions sprouted honest to God wings from their shoulder blades. Leathery and bat-like with only small tufts of feathers. He felt his own body shift and a blistering heat scorched his back. Dudley knew that he too had sprouted the new appendages.

They glided down with all the gracefulness of soldiers parachuting into enemy territory and landed with a series of five splashes in the shallow, stinking mud that had pooled below.

The Geiger counters exploded into noise, but a cursory glance at the side of his visor revealed it was only alpha radiation. Their regular clothes could protect them from that without the need to re-activate the magical shielding. But they put their masks back on all the same, in order to at least protect their face and lungs.

Their journey through the underground swamplands was miserable, not least of which was because their masks couldn't keep the smell out. The strange glowing plants and fungi hanging from the ceiling and massive pillars illuminated their path and they tried to navigate through the islands of rock and lichen. They encountered a few mutant insects and a particularly gnarled murtlap, but they all fled at their warning shots. The ten metre tall murtlap took two, but thankfully it also fled from the strange new invaders.

They were being followed by what they thought was a poor sea-serpant stranded in the underground, but it turned out to be a run of the mill anaconda some irresponsible owner had likely let free even before the war. They debated with each-other if it was so large due to radiation or diet. Regardless, they managed to waylay it through parseltongue recordings made just for such occasions as this.

"Map says we're approaching Vertic Alley." Bill informed him.

Dudley nodded. If everything went well they'd be inside the Gringotts branch and back out with their prize just as the other teams arrived.

"Zero!" Gabrielle hissed back from the corner she just peaked around.

They all crouched low on reflex, only to have the rancid mud reach their shoulders, and in Andramora's case, her chin. Dudley heard his older self internally swearing to do unspeakable things to the young woman if she had alerted them for nothing.

"Sir." Gabrielle whispered as she backed up towards them. "I think we should abort the mission."

The seriousness in her voice was proof enough that the situation called for it. There were very few developments that warranted aborting a mission. The chattering and gargled groans of pain coming from around the causaway corner was one of them.

"Shit. Superius." Dudley hissed to the others behind him.

That was all they needed to know before turning tail and running. They had to get back to the flood tunnel entrance so and radio the others to retreat. The thick stone earth surrounding them made getting a signal all but impossible, but Dudley kept pressing the signal scan button regardless all the while.

They could hear the stamping of formerly human feet following in their wake as they sloshed through the tunnels back the way they came. Their earlier trip in the other direction had left a deeply cut trail to follow, but being a double edged sword this trail also served to guide their entourage directly to them.

At long last they caught sight of the entrance and the brilliant morning sunlight spilling through.

With another press of the "refresh" button he got full signal and his visor informed him that two of the other teams were waiting at the entrance mouth hundreds of meters above them.

Good. They hadn't descended yet.

"Alert! Do not enter the flood tunnels. Mom is here! I am ordering a full retreat." He managed to gasp out between painful panting.

The speakers in his helmit erupted with choice expletives in no fewer than four languages. The only one to respond to the news with anything close to a calm countenence was Fleur.

"No sign of Recusers anywhere near the Japanese galapagose, but all backup units have been informed and are coming in for evac."

Small blessings are always appreciated.

"We are nearing the entrance. Malcolm. Pandora. We have superi(sue-peer-ee) hot on our tail." Bill informed the other team leaders.

"Roger zat." Pandora confirmed.

"Preparing to provide covering fire." Malcolm added with the sound of safeties being turned off and chambers being loaded as background music.

And covering fire is exactly what they provided. Bullets and fireballs rained down around them as they made a mad dash to a hundred flight fire escape. The onslaught kicked up guysers of mud and stinky, stinky steam behind them. None too soon either.

Dudley's team had ascended three whole flights of metal stairs by the time a superius managed to breach the wall of bullets and spellfire and climbed up the stairs after them. It all but swam up the mesh exterior.

He was a hideous thing. As emaciated as an inferi, but with ribbons of copper and steel jutted out of it from all angles. Blades and writhing whips of stainless steel slashed at them through what little protection the mesh provided.

Piers placed a magnum round right between it's eyes.

The next two came in a pair and had once been women. Their stomachs were now fitted with what he could only assume was the inside of a power transformer. Blue streaks of electricity arced between their bodies and the highly conductive cage their group found themselves in. Dudley thanked whatever god who might still be around that their armour was insulated.

Gabrielle and Bill hit them with simultaneous blasting curses, sending them plummetting back to the mud below in pieces.

And on their treacherous climb went until the horde was absolutely flooding upwards from below. At that point they gave up on trying to combat them one at a time and chose to simply blow the bottom half of the gaint stairway off the wall. It took the combined spellfire of Bill, Gabrielle and the five other wands that had run down to meet them, but the bottom fifty flights of stairs soon collapsed into the steam cloud below, taking with it a hundred or so superi.

Everybody who had em threw grenades down after them for good measure.

The five new members from the other units had to practically carrie Dudley and his team up the rest of the way up. They were completely wiped from sprinting the five kilometers back while waist deep in filth. Dudley was pretty sure he pulled both calve muscles and ground his knee joints to dust in his dash up the stairs.

One of the witches from unit three, Morgana he recalled, got the bright idea to clean the muck off of them with some quick cleaning charms and they were able to walk/stumble on their own after that. A few flights later they sprawled themselves on the hard ground in exhaustion.

Gabrielle was the first person to interrupt their heavy breathing competition.

"So. Did any of you remember to get mum any presents?"

They all groaned at the attempted humor. Even Fleur from where she lay at head command.

"That joke wasn't funny the first time I heard it." Bill complained as he sat up from his sun bathing. "And that was nine years ago."

Malcolm helped Bill to his feet and the rest of his unit helped the rest of Dudley's do the same. There was no real point in standing up, as all they had left to do was wait around for evac. Maybe shoot any superi that managed to claw their way up.

"Uh, guys." Gordon's panicked voice erupted over the comm. "We have a problem here."

They all groaned. Again.

"Please don't tell me a Recusar just dropped in." Dudley all but begged.

"No sir."

He let out a sigh of relief. It was short lived.

"But um, remember that stormhead we were warned about?"

Now that Gordon mentioned it, Dudley could see the dark twirling clouds fill what little of the horizon he could see between the skyscrapers around him. On closer inspection it was filling up the sky at an alarming pace.

"Yes?" Dudley asked encouragingly.

"It has a face."

As if to accentuate his point the wind chose that moment to pick up and a great purple bolt of lightning streaked across the building storm clouds. The noise was enough to spook the lichen packs littering the rest of the city and their frightened howls joined the cocophony.

"Fleur! Honey. Talk to us here. What are we dealing with?" Bill pleaded with his wife.

The comm went silent for a moment, the fifteen Veela corps members readied their weapons and watched the stampede of anthropomorphic animals all around them. A were-rat got a little close but was more inclined to flee from the coming storm than pick a fight with them.

Soon enough the background noise of computers humming and life support systems beeping returned.

"We have unsubstantiated reports from the U.N military forces..."

"You mean the U.S military forces?" Malcom interrupted with a sarcastic grin.

"The U.N's bitch's military forces detailing similar entities all across the Americas. We could not verify them and took it to be Urban legend." Fleur explained.

By now the winds were near gale-force and the _thing_ approaching them had blocked out the rising sun.

"Babe. What is it!?" Bill pleaded as they all hesitantly raised their weapons at the coagulating mass descending upon the husk of a city.

"The concentrated energies of radioactive fallout with the magics of the wilderness, given sentience by it's own power."

With another streak of lightning the body within the clouds was partially illuminated.

It's face was segmented into sharp mandibles and had as many eyes as teeth. That is to say, many. Dudley could only make out the general outline of it's body, which resembled that of a human with an accuracy almost meeting that of the superi they had faced earlier. The proportions were indiscribably _wrong_.

"The Marines took to calling them..."

She was cut off as the thing roared like a bobcat through an air tunnel, and with it's opened maw it descended upon the edge of the city, consuming all in it's path.

"Titans."

* * *

Dudley awoke in a cold sweat. A sensation he was growing uncomfortably a customer to.

For several mornings now the first thing to come out of his mouth was the word "What" followed closely by the words "the fuck!" Only to then projectile vomit all over his bed covers.

He had fortunately caught onto this trend and started skipping dinner and sleeping with a mouth piece, the kind you use with teeth whitening gel. So not only did it keep him from screaming like a maniac in his sleep, but it also improved his dental hygiene. Hooray for small victories!

As with most mornings he rushed to his desk where a pen and pad of paper waited for him. His memories of the horrific dream was fading fast, and most mornings he could only remember the strange words or phrases. So he put those down first.

Titan

Superius

Veela(again)

He managed to scratch out a paltrey description of the living storm cloud and the cybernetic zombies from his dream before the rest of it slipped away. What he wouldn't give for a dream recorder. Perhaps the magicals had something of the sort?

He shook his head and made to the bathroom where he spat out the mouth peace and brushed away the gunk from his teeth. A quick cold rinse in the shower and he was ready for his morning jog.

Six laps around the block later he took another cold rinse, this time using soap and shampoo, and returned to his desk. He had a difficult enough time thinking as it was, trying to do some brainstorming while groggy would be a waste of time. With his body fully awake from the prolonged increase in heart rate and duel showers he was ready to crack open Harry's old books.

Starting after his run-in with the dementors he'd begin salvaging Harry's belongings whenever his mother tried to trash them. She did it every year as soon as his cousin went off to that Hogwarts place.

He'd learned about exactly what kinds of spells he was taught there, and worse, taught to defend. Unforgiveables, cursed objects, reminded him.

"Let's see. Ess, ess, ess." He hummed to himself as he searched through the index of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

He had no luck. Then again, the book didn't detail vampires, werewolves or Veela either. He'd had to hunt down other references to the first two in his cousin's defense books. Ironically, pretty much everything in pop culture about the two dark creatures was completely true according to the books. Well, almost everything.

Veela he couldn't find any mention of in the stolen tomes. He'd had to search through the folklore section in the public library, and was surprised to find they were a thing. They were essentially Slavic sirens. Not much interesting there.

He spent another ten minutes searching for ayt reference of Titans, but the best he could find was in the history of magic book which simply said they didn't exist. It had an entire chapter on creation myths of different cultures and what might have inspired them.

Finding out Zeus was a real life person who could shapeshift into any animal was surprising. Learning that the Greeks and Romans enjoyed shapeshifting to have sex in their animal forms was not. Hence centaurs and mermaids and the stories of Zeus's depravity. All true apparently.

He didn't have any luck searching for superius either. The closest thing he found was the inferi, which he'd already obsessively read on.

Zombies. Actual zombies. His only solace in the knowledge of their existence was that they had to be reanimated one by one and not through infection. Load off his mind.

He couldn't help noticing similarities between the inferi of the book and the superi of his he'd hdream. Perhaps he'd have better luck reasoning it out?

He took out another piece of paper and compared the two.

_Infer = below or lesser / Super = above or greater_

So the word inferius means the below ones and superius means above ones? Not much help there. Maybe superi are just advanced inferi? No, that was something a book describing how to defend yourself from zombies would mention. Maybe inferi made from living people instead of the dead?That would explain the naming convention.

He shivered at the concept and kept exploring that train of thought. Inferi are undead, so maybe superi are their opposite? What would that make them? Unliving?

"That doesn't make any sense!" He groaned before crumpling up the latest piece of paper and tossing it in the rubbish bin.

He didn't know why he was putting so much credence in these dreams. At first he though it was just his overactive imagination being given ideas by his reading of magical books, but then he saw things like Veela and Titans and knew he didn't have the imagination to come up with things like that. He considered sharing his concerns with Diggle or Hestia, but even after all these months living with the pair he couldn't bring himself to trust them.

Maybe he could broach the topic of myths and ask if some creatures existed or not. Like dragons and unicorns, then shift the conversation to asking about Titans and Veela. That could work.

But it would have to wait for later. He was meeting with Piers in ten minutes.

* * *

The doorbell announced his friend's arrival by the time Dudley had his gym clothes on.

He greeted him with an overly complex handshake and half hug.

"What's on the training regimen today, commander?!" Piers said with a mock solute as they got to the sidewalk.

Dudley gave him a half-hearted shove. When he explained to his friends that he believed a war was on the way and that he didn't have time to hang out anymore he couldn't very well tell them why he believed it. But Piers had stepped up to the plate and joined him in his self-imposed training regimen.

Malcolm had tried but could only make the trip up from London once or twice a week. Piers was the only one with a car, and offered to drive the others, but Dennis and Gordon couldn't be bothered to join them except on days he went to the shooting range with his father. They hadn't been particularly supportive of his boxing career either, save for pointing out how it could help them bully more money out of others.

That was water under the bridge now. It didn't matter anymore, because he still had Piers.

They went for an hour long jog through the back roads, opting for back alleys and scenic views in place of the crowded streets. The suspicious and hateful glares of nosey old women was a terrible nuisance, especially since he didn't used to get them back when he and his gamg honestly deserved them. Back before the dementors showed him things. Made him see his such a disgusting thing. Himself, as he was. A spoiled bully who tormented those weaker than himself.(**Note**: This is canon. That's what he saw.)

With their warmup finished they rested in a park for a time before putting on gloves and practicing boxing katas.

Piers actually had a real flare for the sport when he applied himself. He didn't have the power behind his punches Dudley had, and certainly couldn't take a punch as well, but damn it all if his friend wasn't fast as hell. He could land a good four body shots before Dudley could get one in.

They switched it up with wrestling when they got tired of cardio and here too his best friend excelled, especially since Dudley lost all that weight. He still had fifty pounds on Piers but his technique and maneuverability just wasn't comparable. He would twist around every grapple and get Dudley into the most uncomfortable holds.

They broke for lunch after that, some chicken and veggie kebabs from a vendor, and walked for an hour to the gym. Weight training was the same boring affair as ever and by the time they finished another set of boxing and wrestling rounds it was getting dark.

Damn winter and it's shorter days!

"Dinner at your place or out again?" Piers asked as they made their way back to the safehouse, not that Piers knew it as such.

"Sorry man. I'm not allowed to have guests over anymore. And I'm eating in today." Dudley said.

It was true too. He played it off as his parents finally getting strict on him, a falsehood that he couldn't believe anyone bought, but it worked as a cover story. They'd all gotten so used to lying by now that it was almost second nature.

"Well I'll go get some junk food then. You enjoy your healthy eating man." Piers said before they shared another complicated handshake and half hug. "We're on for next weekend right?"

"Yup. I'll see you all then, my man."

"Later Big D."

"Later."

* * *

Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

The safehouse lights were all on. That was his first clue. For one, he never left his own bedroom light on. For another, they had to conserve as much electricity as possible to survive on what little funds they had left until they could come out of hiding.

Dinner was normally lit with magic. Yet all of the non-magical, electrical, lights were on.

His second clue was the lack of greeting from Hestia. She should have been on duty by now and she would always wait near the fence gate with a security question. She wasn't there.

The third clue came as a wave of magical euphoria flowed through his body and a mental command echoed in his skull.

"Go inside." The voice said. "Your mother needs your help stuffing a pig for dinner."

Yes. That sounded nice. They hadn't been able to afford any of the usual fare for either Thanksgiving or Christmas, opting for Chinese in the latter case. A honey roasted ham would be amazing.

"Yes." He heard his voice whisper. It sounded so distant. "I'd love to help."

Almost against his will his feet took him towards the front door, even as he waged an internal war against his captor.

Dudley knew what this was. He'd read about it along with the other unforgivables. But how did the book say to break it?!

"Mum. Dad. I'm home." He heard himself say as he entered the threshold.

"In here sweety." He heard his mother's voice call from the dining room. It was dreamy, as if she were in a trance.

Damn. They had her under it too. What about his dad? Did they get him with the mind control magic?

His answer came with the sight of his father, naked and tied down to the kitchen table with an apple stuffed into his mouth. Thick cords of rope dug deeply into his inflamed skin and wrapped around the legs of the table. Seated all around him were dirt covered men and women in dark robes.

Two had unusually hairy faces, a sign he recognized as that of a werewolf, and they twitched horrible. That's not good. They had the cannibal shakes, a symptom associated with those who got to the point that they craved human meat even without a full moon. There was also a woman in cleaner black robes and a skull mask and an impossibly emaciated man with pale skin, a beak-like nose and bloodshot eyes.

He spotted Hestia, equally naked, crucified to the wall and gagged. He could still hear her pained moans as she leaked blood into an aluminum pan placed beneath her feet.

She was alive! That alone gave him hope. If he could somehow break the enchantment on himself and get her wand to her, that might be enough. But where was Diggle?

"Be a dear and help your mother carve the roast won't you?" The masked man who had him under the Imperius asked as he stepped around to join his peers.

Yes! What a wonderful idea. After all, the guests were waiting on him. They must be hungry, and there were so many his mother couldn't hope to serve them all in a timely manner by herself. Right?

No! They aren't guests! The Dursleys couldn't have guests. They're invaders! Murderers! Cannibals!

He had to fight it.

"Yeeeees." The groaned word came out of his mouth even as he raged at the world, god and all of his creations.

Even as tears streamed down his face his body moved at the wizards command. He gripped the meat fork in one hand and cleaver in the other. He stabbed his father's thigh with the first and sawed through it with the second.

He convulsed and screamed through his gag as his blood sprayed onto Dudley like a hose, and yet Dudley couldn't stop, couldn't fight it. When the blade reached bone he forced on, sawing through that too.

He didn't stop when he heard the roar of an engine. He didn't even stop when a massive motorcycle crashed through the bay window. He did stop when that very same motorcycle rammed the two masked assailents through the dining room wall and into the living room.

"Aaaaaaaah!" Dudley screamed in abject terror as the Imperius curse finally broke it's hold on him.

His mother started screaming too, but the pale man tore her throat out with a swing of his arm before she could finish her wail.

Dudley retaliated by leaping over his still spasming father and bearing down on his mother's killer with steel fork in one hand and cleaver in the other. His aim was true and the emaciated killer was rewarded with a meat fork through the eye, which Dudley buried into his skull all the way to the hilt. The momentum from his leap took them both to the ground but before Dudley could bring the cleaver down onto his foe's neck he was flung bodily against an adjacent wall.

To his horror the pale man rose from the ground with the tip of the meat fork sticking from the back of his skull. He grasped the handle and with a stomach-churning squelch he pulled the weapon out of his face, leaving an empty eye socket behind. Black, necrotic blood seeped from the wound and down his face.

In his shock and horror at the undying thing Dudley found himself rooted to his spot on the ground.

"_Lumos Solem_!" A familiar voice yelled and before Dudley's very eyes the house filled with warm, invigorating sunlight.

His mother's killer vanished in a thick black mist as he fled from the light.

The obvious werewolves and pair of wizards in the dining room had recovered from the crashing motorcycle and fired an array of green and red lights through the new door provided by his savior. The sunlight immediately faded under their onslaught. Dudley returned to the present and bore down on the nearest one with the cleaver still clutched in his hand, only to himself be enveloped by that same black mist from before.

It lifted him effortlessly and pinned him against the ceiling before the one-eyed man's face materialized in front of him. His mouth, full of serrated teeth, bore down on him and dug into his shoulder blade.

Dudley bit his own tongue so hard it bled, but had the presence of mind to strike out at his attacker with the cleaver. He didn't know what he hit, but he hit something. The force holding him up let go and he dropped like a rock onto the mass of fat that was his still bound father.

He rolled off of the injured man as quickly as he could and charged through the door to the kitchen. Peeking around a corner through the living room doorway he spotted Harry using a toppled motorcycle as cover while exchanging spellfire with the killers in the next room. They locked eyes and Harry, reaching into the side of the vehicle, produced a sleek shotgun which he slid across the floor to Dudley.

Dudley took the shotgun, and the hint.

Still hidden from the quartet in the dining room, Dudley lifted the weapon and gave a single pump before pressing it against the thin drywall separating them. He pulled the trigger, praying the wide spread of pellets would clip one of them through the drywall, but the shotgun didnt spray run of the mill pellets.

A forked bolt of lightning spewed forth through the kitchen wall with such sound and brightness that it knocked Dudley flat on his ass.

"Oh sweet Mary, Joseph and baby FUCKING JESUS YES!"

He leapt back to his feet and pumped the shotgun a second time, expecting it to discharge the used shell and chamber a second. He noticed that instead of doing so it turned a revolving chamber near his grip. He'd never even heard of a shotgun using a revolving chamber before, let alone practiced with one at the range, but he didn't have time to consider the strangeness of his weapon as the man of the black mist seeped into the kitchen from the yard door.

Just as the man began to materialize Dudley pulled the trigger and this time a great orange inferno burst forth. The force of the blast blew his enemy straight through the yard door. The kickback blew Dudley straight through the living room door.

At this rate the shotgun was as likely to kill him as it was his enemies.

He pumped the gun again and like before it turned the revolving cylinder, this time away from a cartridge with a red flame design, to one with a white crescent moon design.

... Did he even want to know?

The man must have rematerialized outside because he stomped through the now burnt yard door, cleaver and meat fork in either hand. Dudley decided that yes, he did want to know.

For a third time Dudley pulled the trigger on his shiny new shotgun and for the third time it produced a new miraculous result. A great white shape flew forth, bathing the room in warm, uplifting light similar to... similar to that stag Harry had used to drive away dementors.

Unfortunately this wasn't a dementors and the mass of light passed right through his target without leaving a scratch. It snarled at him for the effort though, so he had that going for him.

"Dudley!" Harry called from his side.

He chanced to turn in time to see his cousin snapping a pool que in half on his knee before tossing one half to him, which Dudley caught effortlessly.

"Vampire!"

Oh.

Dudley ditched the shotgun and gripped the wooden stake with both hand, tip pointed at the vampire's chest. The nosferstu grinned, his smile exactly like that of a shark, and stalked towards him with his former weapons.

Dudley wouldn't consider himself fresh, but he was uninjured. His opponent, on the other hand, was missing an eye, had a sucking stab wound in his chest, and was scorched all over from both the sunlight spell Harry had used and the fireball shot. So surely he had the advantage, right?

He charged forward, intent on putting down the unnatural creature of the night, leaving Harry to finish off the wizards in the kitchen.

He roared at the vampire.

The vampire hissed back

The clash never came. The coward faded back into smoke and passed right through him. Before Dudley could spin around to strike out with his spear the vampire slashed his face clean open with the cleaver.

He disappeared again and again, each time delivering a shallow cut or stab with the cutlery. None were deep enough to hit an artery and Dudley realized his opponent was playing with his food. Death by a thousand cuts.

Deciding enough was enough, Dudley settled on a plan to cut off his foe's avenue of attack.

He grasped the handle to their cheap, used fridge and with a mighty heave ripped the door off its hinges. He lifted it up as a shield while the rest of the fridge came tumbling to the floor, spilling it's contents all over the kitchen.

When the blood-encrusted meat fork next pierced his makeshift shield he bashed out with it and, hitting something solid, tackled the vampire to the floor. They lashed out at each other with their respective weapons. The vampire stabbed him in the shoulder with the cleaver. Dudley stabbed him through the heart with his stake.

It let out a high pitched scream as it, impossibly, shrank further into itself and became even thinner.

Before it could breath in the last of the black mist circling them a wand and hand entered Dudley's field of vision from the dining room door and his cousin delivered the second killing blow.

"_Sectumsempra_!"

And like that the vampire was staked and beheaded.

Dudley collapsed to the side of the vampire with a pained groan. He was breathing so hard and fast that he wasn't sure if he'd ever get enough oxygen again. Fortunately the stab to his shoulder hadn't been deep enough to leave the blade embedded in bone, and it was nowhere near the most painful of his injuries. Unfortunately Harry couldn't let him rest.

"Hey Big D." Came the belated greeting. "I'm sorry to say it's time for you to join the war."

With that he offered a hand to Dudley. It was black and rotting from what must have been a horrendous injury, but to Dudley it looked like the most beautiful hand to ever grace a human arm. A hand offering salvation.

For fourteen years he had tormented this man, this warrior, standing over him. And now was his chance to begin fourteen years of making up for it.

"What took you so long to recruit me?" He huffed out as he grasped that whithered hand, before promptly passing out.

* * *

**Notes**:

So there is a huge derth of Harry Potter post-apacolyptic stories. There's actually a crossover with Metro 2033, one of my favorite things ever, but it's not very good.

I mean, there's so much to work with . Instead of the metro, maybe goblins giving sanctuary withing their tunnels and vaults? Maybe it's not entirely, or even slightly, charitable in nature? I'm just spit balling here.

But there you have it. A glimpse of a future in which a Harry Potter turned dark has been let loosem doesn't seem all that nice does it?

**Reviews**:

**pokemanik671 ****Wrote**:

That was great! I think that's the first time I ever saw the deluminator be used for more than that one scene in DH. Great set up with the Grangers by the way, can't wait to see how that turns out.

**Response**:

I know! I need to do a search for fanfiction just with the term "Deluminator" to see what's out there. Also badly. It ends badly. For everyone. That's the point of this story.

**Miss Lorraine Black Wrote:**

Just saw this the other day, and started following! I really like the premise of this, I don't think I've seen a Horcrux Harry where he made a Horcrux, particularly one where he turned into the Dark Arts while maintaining his character arc. I've seen plenty where he turns powerful, and colder, but with a certain "righteousness", but this doesn't feel like that, and so far, I'm liking it.

I also like how you've established the point where we are in the universe quickly, and Harry's tipping point. Hope to see this story continue

**Response**:

I only know of three fanfiction where Harry made a Horcrux.

One was an okay romance between him and a fem Voldemort. One was a terrible crack fic where I stopped reading after Ron and Ginny used polyjuice to turn into Harry and Hermione and banged. The third was. A Little Veela that Could, where he made a light Horcrux.

Which ones have you read? I'd like to check them out. Also thank you very much for the feedback. It means the world to me.


	5. Chapter 5: A Future in Medicine?

**Chapter 5:**

**A Future in Medicine?**

* * *

"Exaggerate the twist in the re-blooding charm." Instructed Mungo Bonham; Founder of Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, one of the greatest magical healers of all time, even three centuries post death, and all around hardass.

"She's going to need a concoction of antibiotic potions. Even still, she is likely to suffer a massive, full-body infection." The shade informed him as the other shade of Regulus watched on in silence.

Despite his lack of healer training, Harry had actually gathered that much for himself. Trying to magically reintroduce blood into an unconscious woman - when that blood had been drained into an unsanitary aluminum tray - sounded like a recipe for a full-body infection to even the most medically ignorant observer. This begged the question, why did Mungo bother forcing Harry to learn to create air purifying wards prior to performing this procedure on Hestia while she was on death's door? Seems like a slight waste of time when time was of the essence.

All the same, the procedure was working. The switching charm variant taught to all healer-trainees was a macabre thing to watch as the thick, coagulating blood climbed up her body and into her wounds, returning to a lighter red as they passed through the minuscule de-coagulation charms Harry had placed around said wounds. They must have also been re-oxygenating the blood as well, based on how many shades lighter it became. That particular medical spell was _definitely_ worth the ten minutes it had taken to learn.

"BOY!"

Oh joy. Vernon had regained consciousness.

"Get your arse over here and use your stick to fix my leg this ins.."

"Silence him."

Harry silenced him.

"He is going to lose that leg."

"You are going to lose that leg." Harry relayed the information to his squirming uncle.

It would have been funny watching his whale of an uncle tied down to the table screaming into the silencing charm, if he weren't naked and bleeding like a sieve out of his thigh.

Soon enough, all of the blood that could be recovered from the pan was back inside of Hestia's veins and Harry used a flesh stitching charm - one of the few first-aid spells Harry had successfully learned from Hermione - to heal what remained of her wounds. They wouldn't actually heal the wounds so much as seal them to the point that it stopped the bleeding. Each and every one of those cuts were destined to scar, and there were quite a few on the unconscious woman.

"Your cousin. Did he ingest any of the nosferatu's blood?"

Not wanting to be overheard speaking to dead people, Harry shook his head in answer.

"Then he is in no danger of converting to a vampire himself. And his wounds are superficial enough. Time to teach you the painless amputation spell."

Harry actually flinched away from the shade at this declaration.

Something most people don't know about healers is that in order to become one, to learn anything beyond publicly known first aid spells, requires a magically binding oath combining the classical Hippocratic oath with a hyper-fidelius charm fueled secrecy oath not to share the medical knowledge. It was literally impossible to learn healing magic without swearing to never cause harm in any capacity to another living being, not even in self-defense or against animal pests. You couldn't even steal the knowledge from a healer's mind due to the protections afforded by the fidelius.

Harry's disbelief must have shown in his expression, because the dark-skinned man elaborated.

"I am dead, Mister Potter. I am not bound by any oaths from life. I am free to teach you all I know of medical magic if I so choose. I've already taught you two spells that would have been impossible for you to learn without taking the oaths yourself, what is one more?"

Oh. Harry hadn't suspected those two healing wards to have been esoteric healer knowledge. They didn't bring to mind the devastation a wizard could cause if they were able to use medical spells combatively. The painless amputation spell, on the other hand, does. As is obvious from the name, the spell amputates limbs and is painless. If that wasn't dangerous enough in a duel, because it is healing magic - aka, the lightest of light magic - most shielding spells, which are designed to block hexes, jinxes and curses, won't stop it. And dark shielding spells for blocking charms or healing spells are nearly non-existent.

And there are thousands of healing spells ranging from those as obviously dangerous as those designed to remove limbs, to those more subtle in their deadliness like artery clamping spells used in brain surgery. Can you say '_death by aneurysm_'? It's a bit harder to pronounce than '_The power the dark lord knows not_', but they're pretty similar in meaning considering the very believable claim by Albus himself that if Pomfrey could break her oaths, she could kick his and Voldemort's arses in a two on one duel. A speech he gave Harry when he asked why he let Pomfrey boss him around.

"Teach me." Harry hissed, barely above a whisper.

And so he did. It was actually a rather complicated spell, a level three medical charm. Level three spells are those that create three distinct effects, and so on for level four through one hundred. It numbs the area, severs the limb and cauterizes the wound. Mastering the wand movements was the only difficult part for Harry, as all three of it's effects are things Harry intuitively knew how to cause separately. Mungo had to judge his proficiency with the spell by sight and sound alone, as he had no way of testing it on inanimate objects. It only effects limbs, human or animal, not table and chair.

"I think you're about as good with it as you're going to get without hands-on tutoring. Time to remove that leg."

The master healer directed him on exactly what part of Vernon's leg to place his wand. He carefully instructed him on breathing techniques and body posture too, to help him relax and ensure no errant twitch of a muscle might make him miss the mark. You don't want to be tense or nervous when contemplating the prospect of removing a human limb after all. Not the Harry was nervous, noooo. It's not like missing the correct area could hit an artery and cause the patient to die by internal bleeding after the wound is cauterised. It's not like you could slice a nerve bundle incorrectly and leave a man in constant pain for the rest of his life. Why in the world would Harry be nervous?

He probably would have cast the spell flawlessly if Daedelous Diggle hadn't barged into the room, slamming the last remaining door of the building against the wall.

"Mother!" Mungo began.

"Fucker!" Harry finished for the ancient healer when his spell severed the wrong leg entirely as he flinched at the noise.

Looks like Vernon would be living the rest of his life with zero legs instead of one. Actually, the angle of that cut looked completely wrong. He didn't have the anatomy of veins, arteries and nerves of the human leg memorized(like any actual healer attempting this spell would have) but that cut looked distinctly fatal.

"If we don't get him to a hospital in the next few minutes he is going to die." Mungo informed him over the howling laughter of Regulus Black. "And don't you dare try and appirate him in that condition."

Lovely.

"What the hell happened here!" Diggle yelled, his jowls - though tiny in comparison to Vernon's - jiggling with every syllable. "I went out for one drink! ONE!"

Ignoring Dumbledore's diligent devotee, Harry turned his wand to his throat and spoke a quick message for Sirius, before casting the patronus spell in a general southern direction.

"P-Potter?"

Harry turned on Daedelus.

"No time to explain. I've recaptured headquarters. Take Hestia and Dudley there. I have to take Vernon to the hospital. Force a few disinfectant potions down Hestia's throat when you arrive. After that, do as the pizza delivery boy instructs you."

With those - admittedly confusing - instructions out of the way Harry walked through the remains of the wall he'd crashed through a half-hour prior and wheeled the motorcycle into the dining room.

"Place your wand on the indent on the left side of the seat." Regulus instructed him.

Harry did so and a side cart materialized where one hadn't been before.

A few severing charms and a stunner later had an unconscious Vernon Dursley untied from the table stuffed it. Barely. Probably should have used a levitation charm instead of trying to carry him.

Diggle had only just gotten over his horror at the scene and appirated Hestia away as Harry hit the throttle and flew out through the remains of the bay window, the two shades following in his wake.

* * *

It was such a lovely night out. More than two stars were actually visible through the light pollution of Muggle England. There was was a slight, cold, northern breeze to take the edge off of the rising spring heat and Corban Yaxley was _finally_ put in charge of a platoon of Aurors to pursue an illegally charmed vehicle.

The platoon was split into two groups, one by broom and one by police patrol cars. Yaxley opted for the more relaxed position of riding as a passenger in the police vehicle. It was a position he picked on account of it being best suited to relay orders and organize his subordinates, and on account of the driver.

"Suspect spotted flying over Sheffield from Thornbury Hospital heading eastbound." The static-filled and barely legible voice came over the new model of magical radio.

The voice belonged to the witch Corban had personally put in charge of the broom-laden half of his team. A woman he hand-picked out of intentional cruelty and the knowledge that she would do absolutely _anything_ he demanded without complaint.

"Thank you Auror Nymphadora." The driver answered before muting the com.

"He is heading for the M1 motorway. The enchantments on his vehicle are running low on power and he'll need to take to the road soon." Yaxley told the living experiment.

The freak nodded and morphed before his eyes. In a display of shape-shifting abilities that made Auror Nymphadora look like an amateur - which was all the more incredible considering he was a Muggle - his flesh outright melted like wax before a glass furnace and expanded as he went from a thin, clean-shaven blonde man to a pudgy brunette with a well-trimmed mustache.

"This is police chief Graham." The freak lied over the separate police radio with his new voice. "All units be advised, suspect in a child sex-trafficking case driving a Royal Enfield Bullet. He is heading eastbound towards the M1 motorway. Request backup from all units available from Sheffield to London."

A series of affirmative responses rang out from every Muggle police officer within distance. The real police chief of Sheffield, like every police chief in the United Kingdom, was on the Ministry payroll and in the know regarding the magical world. A necessary evil; one that ensured the cooperation of law enforcement and prevented any unintentional interference from the real police chiefs.

"How long until they can push a few dozen of you off the assembly-line?" Yaxley asked the driver.

The emotionless shell returned to his true, or perhaps favored, form and gave him the creepiest, most artificial smile he'd ever seen. Quite the feet considering how much time he spent around politicians and fellow Death Eaters.

"That is entirely contingent upon how favorably Mister and Misses Flamel find your report of my services."

* * *

The police blockade was a thing of beauty.

Three entire lanes of vehicles, including a pair of armoured trucks, blocked any access to the motorway ramp along with a few spike strips for good measure. The last was liable to do absolutely nothing, as any vehicle enchanter would be smart enough to charm the tires to resist punctures and deflation in general, but it payed to be thorough.

"Target will be touching down exactly where anticipated." Auror Tonks called over the magical comm.

Good. That would land him some fifty yards away; within perfect view of every single officer and Auror of the blockade. He would be easy picking as he approached. With Yaxley and his partner at the head of the formation, right next to the armoured trucks, most of the glory would be going to him.

Now all there was to do was wait. The second line of Aurors were placing masking wards, the kind used specifically in anticipation of magical shootouts. It functioned as a glamour covering a large area that made every spell appear as something mundane, like a gun or rocket, to the eyes and ears of any Muggle.

An entirely compensatory engine roar echoed into the night and above the tops of the next row of buildings a dazzling light show played out. The broom unit was intercepting whoever had stolen the vehicle from number twelve and forcing him to land.

He seemed to be holding his own against the five-member hitsquad, a feat Yaxley wasn't sure he could imitate.

But even with his resistance he did eventually touch diwn and, ignoring the confused mutterings of the police officers who couldn't make heads or tails of whatever the flying bike and spellfire appeared to them, Yaxley leaned through the window and took aim. The motorcycle rider(who wasn't even wearing a helmet, tsk tsk.) was impossible to get a shot at, what with him swerving between the bumper to bumper traffic leading up to the blockade. But Yaxley was nothing if not patient.

Patience did not payoff, as something long and cylindrical shot out of the Bullet's front end towards the blockade. A bright jet of flame was left in it's wake as it soared above the traffic.

"That is an AIM-9 sidewinder air-to-air missile." The shapeshifter calmly informed him from the driver's seat.

That certainly raised Yaxley's eyebrows.

The illusion wards altered perception of magic used to match the closest Muggle analogue. Most offensive spells would appear as bullets of different calibers or grenades if they're particularly powerful. For a spell to appear as a missile usually fired from a goddamn jet meant it must be one hell of a piece of offensive magic.

Problem. While it made sense for the mutant, who was still technically more Muggle than Wizard, to see illusions when watching a spell, the projectile flying towards the blockade looked an aweful lot like a missile to Yaxley's eyes too... Yaxley was a wizard... Wizards aren't effected by the wards...

That's wasn't a spell screeching towards them.

"Everybody down!" An exceptionally sensible police officer yelled as his contemporaries panicked and fled to cover.

Yaxley barely had time to duck back into the car as the missile struck perfectly between the two armored trucks and sent them flipping through the air. One landed in the ditch on the opposite end of the road while the other crashed against the car Yaxley had taken cover in with the force of a rampaging skrewt. The world became nothing more than a spinning mass of metal, floating shards of glass(which looked oddly ethereal in the flashing lights of the surrounding police cars) and pain.

One flip, two flips, eight flips later and Yaxley was crawling out of the twisted mass of metal in time to see the man in the motorcycle drive straight through what little remained of the blockade. As expected, the spike strips failed to puncture his tires. What he couldn't have expected was to recognize the driver.

"Potter?!" He wondered aloud as Undesirable Number One got away.

That explained the lost contact with number twelve. And the failed assassination attempt, ehem, capture mission to take the Dursleys into protective custody. Apparently a member of the terrorist organization known as the Order of the Phoenix had intercepted the team sent there. Tragic.

The few vehicles left unaffected near the rear of the blockade took chase and followed Potter up the ramp and onto the motorway. The broom brigade flew close behind them.

Yaxley turned to the wreckage that had almost taken his life to see that it succeeded in taking that of his partner. What a waste of potential. Oh well.

"Nymphadora!" He yelled to the sky with a sonorus-enhanced voice, fighting back the wince in his voice from moving his broken arm.

The pain from breathing hinted at possible broken ribs too, so he used some basic first aid spells to bind his arm and chest. A numbing charm later and he was in good enough shape to continue the chase.

Auror Tonks landed beside him and he wrapped himself around the woman as he sat behind her. Now this was a broom made for comfort!

"After him! After Potter!" He ordered. "But keep your distance. For all we know the tail pipe has a tomahawk missile shoved in it!"

And she obeyed, kicking off the ground the active warders flying close behind to keep all potential magic within the glamour ward.

He noted an amorphous, scorched shape emerge from the flaming death trap he himself had barely escaped from and realized he had uner-estimated the living alchemical experiment.

* * *

Even with the magic allowing the motorcycle to fly long since drained, the crotch rocket was a powerhouse in terms of speed. It didn't handle quite as well as a broom but his talent for broom flying translated surprisingly well for playing out his Evil Kenevil fantasies.

"Pull over or you will be fired upon!" The same police officer warned him... Again. This time he sounded like he might mean it.

With a twist of his wrist and a complicated s-motion Harry summoned a fire whip at the end of his wand. With one exaggerated swing he cut clean through both tires of a candy red SUV and sent it reeling towards his pursuers.

He didn't have time to turn around and appreciate the end result but he could hear it just fine. If it was making as much of a spectacle as it sounded like, then now was the right time to activate the invisibility function of the motorcycle and slip away.

The power runes that allowed the vehicle to fly were separate from the ones for invisibility, just like with Arthur's Ford Anglia. But which button was it?

"Silver dial on the left." Regulus' shade called from behind.

Harry ducked beneath a semi and hit the dial. He was now doubly hidden, but as with any mobile hiding place Harry was forced to go where it went and switching to the a617 freeway wasn't part of his plan. Nor was being found.

He felt it before he saw it. Something magical, but twisted and unnatural was vaulting directly towards him, and despite his rudimentary(at best) magical senses he felt the thing's presence like a chill of horror going down his spine. Then he spotted it in the mirror. A pale, naked form twisted to inhuman lengths, as if somebody had turned the arms and legs of a person into clay and stretched them both to twice the length of the body. A body charred, gashed and embedded with bits of metal as if he had been in a car crash. It's inhuman movements and deformed shape was nightmare fuel.

"What the everloving fuck is that?" Regulus screamed when he finally caught sight of it.

It was nearly upon them, it's impossibly long limbs allowing it to run on all fours at speeds surpassing the 80 kph Harry was cruising at. Time to fix that.

He hit the throttle and ducked his head as he drove under the long cables and metal beams of the semi to reach the other side. He only now noticed the long line of metal boxes being driven along this particular route. Must be a rush for Easter deliveries. At least he wouldn't have to get any more civilians killed today.

Well, maybe a trucker or two, but it's not like they were vital member of Britain's economic structure or anything.

* * *

**Notes:**

I think I'll stick with 3k word chapters instead of aiming for 8k like this one was going to be. Split it into two like this so I can release more chapters more quickly.

I would also like to point out that the Dangly Man(which I'm calling this mutant from now on) is not an oc. It's a new type of creature I created for the story to introduce the Flamel involvement in the war. That's my story, I'm sticking to it.

**Reviews:**

**pokemanik671 ****Wrote**:

As always I have to drop everything whenever you update. Awesome fight scene and good to see Dudley being kickass

**Response:**

That one's going into the inspiration folder. Thank you.


	6. Chapter 6: Escape from Nightmares

**Chapter 6:**

**Escape from Nightmares**

* * *

The invisibility of his vehicle counted for nothing in the wake of a being capable of altering every individual organ in their body to that of any other organism. With the sense of smell like that of a bear, eyesight of an eagle and hearing of a moth the Freak made for a perfect bloodhound to follow.

Or so its' creator had assured them.

"Suspect has turned onto the a619 motorway heading west towards Chesterfield!" Auror Tonks spoke over her hand radio as they trailed behind the vague mirage of a man riding a motorcycle.

"Roger that. Sending backup eastbound in your direction." Came the response from the Chesterfield police chief.

Soon enough the Aurors that had chased Potter down and forced him to land caught up to Yaxley and Tonks. At his signal, they spread out in order to cast a wide net of masking wards and potential vectors of spellfire. The alchemist's creation, on the other hand, had already closed the distance and was nearly upon their target.

A loud pop later and Potter appeared, visible, atop the nearest semi truck. It was a ballsy move - apparating while traveling well over 80 kilometers per hour - and required the presence of mind to match the speed of the the target point. Potter didn't so much as flinch upon his reappearing which told Yaxley he had matched the trucks speed perfectly, or else he would have gone flying from the change in momentum.

What was more impressive was that he'd waited for a particularly strait stretch of road to ensure the starting and ending points matched in direction of momentum as well.

Potter cast some kind of wide area lightning charm at the creature, and his own motorbike, that left sparks of bright yellow and white echoing between the two. Yaxley recognized it as one of Mad-Eye Moody's favorite spells. It caused no physical harm, but was the closest thing to the cruciatus a light-side wizard would use in order to cause pain. Pain that forced the twisted creature to vault ass over elbow.

Potter followed this up by leaning over the truck's cab and casting some kind of spell at the driver, as well as the driver of an adjacent rig, before apparating back to the seat on his now visible motorbike.

"Did you catch what spell he used on the drivers?" Yaxley yelled over the howling wind in his ear.

"Not a clue! Maybe a confundus?" Tonks offered.

No. Harry Potter wouldn't cast a spell like that on the driver of a multi-tonne vehicle, assuming his psychological profile was to be believed. It would cause a massive crash and pileup, and put too many lives at risk. He would sooner cast an unforgivable on somebody.

* * *

"Alright!" Harry called out to the shade of Regulus Black. "I cast the imperius on them. _Now_ try possessing one."

Regulus, who had tried and failed to possess the drivers before, gave him a curt nod and flew to the nearest truck cabin. Harry watched in the side mirror as the glazed look of the driver faded and was replaced by the aristocratic smirk common amongst all of his godfather's relatives.

So, he was right. Shades summoned by the resurrection stone can only possess people placed under the imperius. Question was, did the person need to be placed under it by the wielder of the stone, or could he summon an army of shades and send them out to possess every person under the unforgivable's tender ministrations regardless of caster? More importantly, why were they able to possess anybody at all, let alone an imperius victim?

Questions for later.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! Hermione Jean Granger!" He yelled into the resurrection stone.

"Ron, switch places with Regulus. Hermione, take control of the other driver." He ordered as soon as the flying spirits materialized.

"But I've never driven a semi before!" Ron yelled back.

"And I've never driven at all!" Hermione added.

"I'm not expecting you to drive particularly well, if you catch my meaning." Harry countered, giving them a well-used look that only they would normally be able to decipher.

They each gave him a knowing nod and did as instructed, just as a pair of broom-riding Aurors broke formation and closed in on him.

He barely swerved out of the way in time to avoid a familiar red stunner and accompanying explosion hex impacting the asphalt he'd previously occupied. It was then that Ronald - now several decades older and many stones heavier than he was in a previous life - swerved his re-appropriated vehicle and nicked one of the Aurors. The nick from such a heavy box of steel moving at such high speeds was enough to shatter his broom, and likely every bone in his body, sending him to the ground below where he became little more than a crimson smear mark.

Harry turned around and, after taking careful aim, took out the second flyer.

"Avada kedavra!"

* * *

The flash of green de-seated the flyer and send his lifeless body fluttering in the wind like a piece of litter. It was only the quick reaction of his metamorph companion that they avoided being hit by the corpse and suffering a similar plummet to their deaths.

"That is not Harry Potter!" Tonks yelled back to him after righting her broom.

Funnily enough, Yaxley had come to the same conclusion. He retrieved the radio transmitter from the young milf's waist and relayed this new information.

"Suspect is NOT Harry Potter. I repeat, suspect is NOT Harry Potter, but an imposter impersonating him. Deadly fire is now authorized. I repeat, shoot to kill!"

He replaced the transmitter and racked his brain to try and decide who the imposter was. It was somebody far too skilled, far too ruthless and far too _fatal_ to be the bleeding-heart of a boy who favored disarming charms to cutting curses, like the one he just sent at a third Auror whose shield it passed through like water... What the hell kind of spell was that?

He shook the latest question from his mind and went back to deciphering the previous puzzle.

Was he a foreign Hitwizard the boy somehow hired? The name Kwan Chang-ho came to mind, but that ruthless bastard was never without his companion, James Collins. If that crazed gunman was nearby and ready to provide backup then they were all in deep shit.

Who did that leave? A turncoat Death Eater?

And then it hit him.

"Malfoy." He groused aloud.

It had been over a week since Potter had kidnapped the heir. Had Potter won him over to his side? No. It wasn't the son. That pusilanimous little shit was too yellow to kill anybody, let alone risk his life for a cause he didn't even beieve in. The father then? Potter could have won him over, or at least forced him to do his bidding, through some kind of hostage negotiation. The Dark Lord had been treating the former inner circle member like trash, and now that chicken had come home to roost.

Looks like they had a traitor to kill.

The alchemical creature had regained his bearings, twisting his flesh to something that - in shape and mechanism - resembled a cheetah's lithe form crossed with that of an inferi. Their target must have caught sight of it in his mirror because he hit the brakes hard enough to nearly ram the creature.

The creature's reflexes were such that it leapt aside and clung to the box car of the leftward truck. The one that had rammed the flyer earlier. Now Potter was boxed in between the two vehicles with the creature, who's limbs were growing spines like that of ice climbing boots and fingers like a geckos. The disgusting feet and red appendages would be an offense to any God who had created the beautiful animals of the earth that this abomination was now imitating.

"Target is boxed in! Move-in! Move-in!" Tonks yelled over the radio and all twenty of the broom riders around them did as told.

* * *

Harry hit the throttle and with what little charge the levitation enchantments had gained during this chase, he rose a few feet into the air and turned. With his wheels firmly attached to the side of the right truck box he switched into the highest gear and flew into an arc to avoid the onslaught of killing curses that rained down on the gap between the trucks.

He raised this wand skyward and once again cast the spell Moody's shade had taught him, hitting at least half a dozen Aurors with the arcing lightning. Their bodies spasmed out so uncontrollably that they lost all control of their brooms and "skidded-out" as his old teammates called it. If he was lucky one or two of them would crash into the other flyers and send them all careening to their deaths.

He landed Reggie's bike on the roof of the box and hit the brakes.

He held on right as Ron and Hermione followed through with the plan and swerved towards each-other before pulling back, turning the boxes trucks into a high-speed vice that slammed into each other with an earth-shajing clang.

As the giant boxed of steel crashed Harry saw a grey shape leap up onto the roof of the adjacent box. The disgusting creature had survived their maneuver, but he was sure the two flyers that had tried to approach him from down low weren't so lucky.

Harry released the brakes and his the throttle as Ron and Hermione tried to regain control over their still swerving vehicles, but not before casting an overpowered bambarda at Ron.

The cab, engine block and front wheel disintegrated with the same liquidity as the body Ron had been possessing just milliseconds ago. With their destruction the remainder of the cab and it's payload dug into the road and flipped over like an olympic pole vaulter.

He'd have to make it up to Ron later but good God was it sayisfying to watch that crime against nature get sent flying.

Wait, did it always have wings?

"God-damnit!" Harry yelled as he saw his pursuer now had thick leathery membranes stretched out from his hands to his feet.

He looked a lot like one of those gliding squirrels now. A hairless, burned and bloody gliding squirrel with sharp bits of bone jutting out from inappropriate places.

* * *

The remaining flyers scrambled to avoid the airborne vehicle and it's cargo box. The shattered cans of cola were a more difficult challenge to avoid and left them all covered in the sticky beverage.

By the time they finally circumvented the crashing chunk of twisted metal and returned to their chase Potter, or whoever the hell it was polyjuiced as him, had somehow managed to navigate to the front of the truck lineup; some twelve vehicles ahead of him. That bike must have been faster than he'd been leading them to believe.

The creature landed on the roof of the nearest semi and changed his shape once more, to what Yaxley couldn't tell, before sprinting along and leaping to the next one. Let it not be said that the Flamel's gift wasn't a tenacious little blood hound.

"Go go go!" Yaxley yelled with he help of a sonorus charm to his throat.

The other flyers abandoned their attempt at re-erecting the wards and joined the creature in chasing down their prey.

The only warning to what happened next was the tell-tale tingling sensation of a wide area-of-effect spell before the ground suddenly became a lot shinier than the dry, warm weather would allow. And then came the screeching of tires.

"Glisseo?" Tonks wondered allowed.

She was right! This motherfucker just cast a grease charm onto an entire two kilometer stretch of road!

"Who is this powerhouse!?" Tonks yelled back at him.

But he decided not to even guess at an answer as it was then that the dozen truck pile-up began. One vehicle crashed into another. A third hydroplaned. A fourth and fifth vaulted over like the soda truck from earlier. Yaxley didn't quite catch what happened to trucks six through twenty as it was then that world became not but fire, flying tires and steel.

Who knew there was a flammable variant to the grease spell? It would have been a fun bit of trivia to learn while not flying towards and actively exploding oil tanker, that's for damn sure.

Tonks yelled something that might have been instructions to hold on tight, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of metal on metal fiery winds, and exploding tanks of petroleum and deisel fuel.

Auror Tonks proved her old position on the Hufflepuff team had been well-earned as she dived, swerved, ducked and dodged between the impromptus obstacle course of shrapnel and death. His broken bones objected vehemently to each jerk of the broom, but he ignored the pain in favor of watching in abject wonder as they someone flew through a flaming gap between two crashing truck cabins and ducked under the remains of the oil tanker's prolapsed container as it fell back to the ground.

For a full minute they twisted this way and that, entering death defying rolls and turns, until finally endless red and orange gave way to the calm black of night again.

When they finally passed through the last tongues of fire and onto the familiar black road Tonks skidded to stop and they both collapsed onto the hard ground in coughing fits. There they both battled with their lungs to catch their breaths and clear them of the soot and ash.

It took a Herculean effort, but Yaxley managed to lift his shaking and ashen body and turned his head to survey the breath hitched at what he beheld.

"It... It's..." He gasped and stuttered as words failed him.

The flaming carnage reached ten, twenty, forty meters into the air as charred pallets of confectionaiy, rolls of carpet, battered electronics and the many other products these vehicles had contained rained down upon the earth like the seventh plague of Egypt. Their drumbeat drowning out the screams of his team members and the Muggle drivers as the life slowly, and painfully, left their bodies.

"It's beautiful." He whispered with a sob one would expect from a man holding his newborn baby for the first time.

With shaky knees he rose to his feet and watched, simply watched, the utter destruction before him. It was violence and brutality turned into an art. Destruction so profound it made his soul ache. It was what he had dreamt of in the promise of war his Lord had made but never delivered on.

Before today he never had the words to describe the future he craved, but at least now he could provide a pensive memory as an example of how he envisioned redecorating the entirety of the Muggle world.

"That, I ... I don't." Nymphadora sputtered as she picked herself up as well.

She was favoring an arm. Must have been hit with some shrapnel during her outstanding flying.

"I wager to guess the suspect escaped?" Yaxley asked rhetorically in the same bored droll he always used, only now he had to fake it.

Tonks glanced at the stretch of pristine road behind them and back to him before giving a dumbfounded nod in affirmative.

"Who in all that is right and holy was THAT!?" She asked, nearly pleaded.

"That, " said Yaxley "was undesirable number one. Harry James Potter."

She sputtered incoherently at that answer. Glancing back and forth from the hellscape they narrowly escaped to the direction their target had fled before she managed to recompose herself.

"But, Harry couldn't do this. He isn't a killer. He isn't..." She reasoned.

Brutal enough? Savage enough? Apacolyptically destructive enough to do all of this? Yaxley humored himself by using these and other appropriate adjectives to complete her sentence in his head.

"A week ago I would have agreed with you. But now?"

Now? He didn't quite know. Something had changed. Something profound and unholy had turned the would-be savior of the wizarding world to the new dark lord each and every one of them had whispered about on that fateful Halloween so long ago. A rumor, an apprehension regarding the Boy-Who-Lived that few dared talk about in the days after his first defeat.

And Yaxley had no delusions as to what this all meant. The power of the spells witnessed today, the apathetic mayhem and death he caused - to say nothing of his use of unforgivables - left no doubt in his mind that the Chosen One had indeed gone through some kind of metamorphosis and came out the other side a fully-formed dark lord. He couldn't explain how it could have happened, or even why he believed it but as he watched the fires die down he knew in his heart of hearts.

"It's finally begin." He realized aloud.

Tonks looked at him with great confusion and what might have been concern for his sanity.

"What? What's begun?"

"The war." He answered, barely keeping his voice steady in his euphoria. "At long last, the war has begun."

His entire squad. Dead. The gift from that immortal alchemist? Destroyed. His mission had been an utter failure, and yet he couldn't be happier. He would have to report his theory that one of the Malfoys had joined Potter until he could decide how to act on this new information. He thanked his heavens he never took the mark, for now he may very well be doing battle with those who were.

"Oh, and Auror Tonks." He said to the young woman.

He waited for her to look him in the eyes.

"I think you've thoroughly earned a weekend visitation with your half breed spouse and crotch-fruit."

That certainly wiped the shock and horror from her face, only for it to return when they heard a final crash resoundin over the dying embers. Some unrecognizable chunk of charred debris was flung aside and from underneath stepped a figure from nightmares.

Veins of fiery embers crisscrossed a body formed wholly of charcoal. The human shape, unseeing, walked towards them and like shards of stone cut from a sculpture his body fell apart while with each step. It grew smaller and cleaner as it approached until a mere meter away from Yaxley stood a mass of flesh and bone.

It twisted and writhed like a boggart indecisive of its' next form with the sound of grinding meet and cracking bones until it reshaped into a child. Naked and unblemished, but smiling in that fake, plastic smile he was growing uncomfortably familiar with the creature spoke.

"I apologize for my failure in this mission." The shapeshifter said, having finally used what remaining uncharred flesh he had left to form a new body. "I do hope you are not so dissatisfied with my performance that you wish me to self-terminate?"

Yaxley could merely shake his head, too stunned at the creature's impossible durability.

"That won't be necessary." Yaxley said. "You put on a simply marvelous performance, and I cannot wait to tell your creators all about it."

If possible, the creature's smile grew even wider.

* * *

Harry turned off the engine and kicked up the stand for the motorcycle before easing himself out of the seat.

He was home.

"You know." The shade of Regulus Black said as they departed the alley beside number twelve and approached the front door. "I really appreciate you trying to bring my bike back, but in hindsight you really should have just hid it in some foliage and apparated back."

The man, er, spirit wasn't wrong. But this was still a victory all the same. He settled for not answering.

With a turn of the handle Harry opened the door to his godfather's ancestral home to the sound of banging pots and pans. Upon crossing the threshold he further noted the tell-tale sounds of chatter, boiling water and a smidgon of laughter coming from the kitchen. The further sound of running showers came down to him from the several bathrooms around the house.

Those imperius victims had wasted no time in making themselves at home, had they?

"Potter!" Came Diggle's voice.

Harry turned to the demolished drawing room on his left to see him and Sirius(as the pizza boy) approaching him. Harry was in the mood for a shower, a meal and bed so he wasted no time on pretty words.

"Hestia and Dudley?" He asked.

"Bandaged and in fresh beds." Diggle answered.

"Death Eaters in the attic?"

"Dead as dirt." Sirius answered.

"Their victims?"

"Familiar with all five methods of flaying the human body and are now coping in the kitchen or washing away weeks of dirt, grime and unwanted bodily fluids." Sirius explained.

"Kreacher and Dobby?"

"Cleaning up the debris from your battle and making plans to repair the many gaping holes in my ancestral home."

Brilliant!

"Well if that will be all, I really must retire for the day." Harry ordered as he made his way to the stairs.

Sirius blocked his path.

"There is, errrr, one other thing you really should see."

Harry motioned for his godfather to lead the way and for Diggle to remain where he was. Their trip was rather short as Sirius lead him to the tattered and sludge covered remains of Walburga's portrait/Horcrux.

Sirius parted the ruined cloth of the painting to reveal a dark and narrow staircase leading downwards.

Well shit.

"I haven't gone in yet. Wanted to wait for you to get back. Seeing as all I have is a sword and a Muggle body. " Sirius explained.

Harry nodded once in approval before drawing Draco's wand for what would hopefully be the last time that evening. He cast a silent lumos and began the descent, with the black brothers following closely behind him.

Harry mentally compared this passage with a mental three-dimensional model of the house in his head. If they were going by sane and normal laws of space then this passage would be cutting directly through the middle of the kitchen. But seeing as magical abodes tended to alter space dramatically he had to shake the confusion from his mind.

The end of the passage opened up into a cramped room filled to the brim with stacks of paper, reference books and strange objects that reminded Harry greatly of some in Dumbledore's office. There were several bookshelves and a large desk with an unlit lamp, but what caught Harry's attention was a source of light on the other side of the room.

He dropped the lumos spell to try and see it better. It looked like murky flourescent lights setup in rings on the ground. As they edged closer he saw that there were shapes hovering above them, humanoid shapes in fetal positions. As they got closer still he realized what they were.

Tanks. Cylindrical glass tanks full of water like something out of a science fiction movie, and within each tank was a naked person.

There was six in all. A red-haired man no older than nineteen, with a blonde man of similar age on the left, a black-haired gentleman - again nineteen - on the right along with a small blonde girl almost his age and a black-haired boy likewise nearing his age. At the very center was a black-haired woman who was the spitting image of Bellatrix Lestrange - or more flatteringly - Andromeda Tonks.

The others, he noted, seemed malformed. Their facial features, digits and sex organs like melted wax in shape to the point that their eyes and mouths were completely sealed.

"Are they alive?" Harry couldn't help asking.

It was then that he noticed the umbilical chords connected to each person at the belly button and winding down to the floor of their cylinders.

Of all the disturbing things Harry expected to find in Walburga Black's secret study, human clones weren't anywhere on the list.

It was then that Sirius walked past him to aggressively knock on the glass of the middle tube. To Harry's shock and horror the woman's eyes snapped open.

"Rise and shine." Sirius greeted. "Mother."

* * *

**I NEED A PROOFREADER!**

**Reviews:**

**PortgazDAdz Wrote:**

It may be just me bt I liked fight fire with fire version better.

**Response**:

Yeah it was definitely funnier, but I sort of hit a dead end in the story and realized it wasn't very well written.


	7. Chapter 7: The Hidden Enemy

**Blood-Soaked Succession**

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

**The Hidden Enemy**

* * *

The bowling pins clattered as each and every one of them came tumbling down, signaling Dumbledore's eighth strike.

"I swear." The shade of James Potter muttered. "You must be using magic to cheat somehow."

The old man was impossibly skilled, but the fact that he was in the body of the young pizza delivery boy meant they couldn't blame magic for their losing streak. The man had been playing the game for well over a hundred years, though his skill would make it seem as if he'd been doing it since it's inception in 3000 bc. Or so Sirius' shade joked.

"Alright, my turn! Allow me to show you scrubs how it's done." Peter demanded as he switched places with the headmaster.

Harry waved his wand and reset the pins for the traitor as Dumbledore's shade sauntered over to where Harry sat with Moody, cleaning the magical eye bequeathed by him with a sponge and polishing solution. Together they, along with Sirius, Regulus, Ron, Hermione, Regulus, Peter and Harry's own parents sat discussing the latest developments.

The basement-turned-bowling-alley would be overcrowded if they were all flesh and blood. As it was, only Harry and the Pizza Tepee_(TM)_ employee had blood running through their veins. Or veins at all, for that matter.

"Now. Are you absolutely certain that you witnessed this being transform? It didn't instantly change from one shape to another, but instead morphed slowly, reshaping itself?"

Harry nodded as he inserted the eye back into the lubricated rubber rings used to cushion it from the metal interior of his Snitch Horcrux. A bit of manhandling later and he shoved the eye, rubber rings and all, back into it's home and filled it up with contact lens fluid. His other half closed up around it and fluttered away.

He had another job of spying to do.

"It morphed like a supercharged metamorphmagi. My earlier statement that it was like a boggart made of flesh was off." He explained calmly.

"That doesn't mean what you encountered wasn't peripherally related to boggarts in some way." Hermione chided as Pettigrew made his fourth strike of the evening, proving himself once and for all to be the second best bowler present.

"It's transformations were imperfect, correct?" The shade of Lily Potter asked.

Harry nodded.

"Then it wasn't anything like the boggart. The boggart is illusory. It does not physically transform, for it has no physical form. It merely creates a visual representation of what it sees in your own mind." The Hermione Granger of the Marauder's generation explained.

Dumbledore gave the older redhead a nod of approval.

"It was like..." Harry said, inventing a better description as he went. " If you took flesh and bone, and shaped it like clay into the approximate form you wanted, that's what this creature would be."

Regulus swapped places with Peter and lined up for another shot.

"You know." The turned Death Eater offered. "I might be biased because of how I died, but it sounds like a shape-shifting inferi."

That gave them pause. Peter was the first to break the silence.

"Indeed. If I were to try and recreate what you described I would make an inferi out of a metamorph. Some ritual involving bone and flesh softening potions before killing them _might_ do the trick."

Everyone present gave him similar looks of disgust and intrigue.

"What!? The Dark Lord didn't recruit me just because I was friends with so many Order members." He explained. "I have an inborn talent for necromancy, and the Dark Lord recognized it during the battle of Dublin."

Hmmm. He'd always suspected there was much more to the story of Wormtail's betrayal than mere cowardice, and this piece seemed to paint a much more complete puzzle. He had to wonder about the inferi in that cave and how much of a hand - pun intended - Wormtail had in their creation.

"You know Scabbers. The more I learn about you the creepier it is that you hid as a rat in a dorm room filled with underage boys for three years." Ron commented.

"It was seven." Wormtail corrected. "And I was a resident of the Weasley household for another five years before that. And don't you dare start hurling accusations of pederasty or other unbecoming things! I have to put up with enough of those insults from fellow Death Eaters, thank you very much."

The glare he gave Ron was so impressive that Harry couldn't be bothered to correct his use of present tense. Reminding him that he was, in fact, dead and that he need not speak to any Death Eaters ever again seemed unnecessary.

"Then tell us, Peter." Sirius pleaded, the venom he spat dampened by the blatant hurt and compassion bleeding into his voice as he asked the question. "Why did you hide with the Weasleys? Out of all the wizarding families our there, why them?"

Everyone's attention was turned fully to the rat animagi. Harry was glad that his wasn't the only face to show the deep curiosity and need to know why a man would commit such a betrayal.

"I did it as a favor to Fabian and Gideon."

"Huh?"

Harry wasn't the only one who couldn't muster a more eloquent response to that bombshell.

"Fabian and Gideon. I was there when Voldemort staged an attack on them to try and force the sword of Godric Gryffindor to manifest. Which it did."

Harry and Dumbledore shared a look. There was another theory confirmed. Voldemort had planned to use Harry's death to turn the final founder's object into a Horcrux. And to think he'd nearly succeeded with the sword that would later save Harry's own life.

"They had actually known about my turning sides long before that. And they had kept my secret." Peter continued. "They didn't condemn or condone my betrayal. But they understood, and that meant the world to me. It's why I dealt the killing blow. Spared them suffering in death."

"But why would they keep your secret?" James asked. "Fabian and Gideon were Dumbledore's men, through and through."

Wormtail took on a pensive look, staring off into space. They all waited patiently as he organized his thoughts.

"I think I'd rather keep that personal information private. If it's all the same to you."

Harry considered dismissing him and simply summoning Mrs Weasley's twin brothers to answer in his place, but he wasn't _that_ curious. Furthermore, he was done wasting time.

"Very well. We can put the _Legend of the Mighty Wormtail_ on hold for now. Dumbledore." Harry said, turning to the eldest soul present. "Are you satisfied that we've wasted enough time trying to figure it out for ourselves, or are you going to make us wait a little longer before telling us what this creature I encountered was?"

Both of his parents actually snorted at that direct and disparaging remark. The humor behind it even brought a twinkle back into the old man's transparent and grey eyes, despite his frown.

"I'm not positive what this shape-shifter was, all I have is a hunch." Dumbledore pre-empted. "But..."

"Your hunches tend to be right." Every single person in the cellar-turned-bowling-alley chorused.

If possible, the twinkle in the shade's eyes grew brighter.

"The signs are obvious, if hidden." Began the headmaster. "The attempts by Walburga within this very home to create artificial life are based on a field of magic which shares a discipline that could create such a creature. Alchemy. Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel are very much alive and have come out of retirement to take part in this war. If history is any indication, it is for purposes of taking advantage of the chaos to push the boundaries of ethical experimentation in their field of study."

This was most definitely not the revelation Harry was expecting.

"Alchemy? Seriously?" Ron voiced. "I thought alchemy was just transfiguration, but at the chemical level. Like turning lead to gold."

"A common misconception." The headmaster lightly chastised. "In reality alchemy is a much more vague - and to some dark - field of study with many more uses than simply changing matter. It is the manipulation of the natural attributes, of perfect forms and inherent natures. Transmutation, the field Mr Weasley just succinctly described, is the art of changing the chemical nature of metals. It's all based on the Platonic idea of perfect forms."

Harry was lost, and it must have shown on his face because Sirius took over the explanation.

"It's actually really simple to understand. Here, let's do an exercise. Describe a dog to me. In your own words, define what a dog is."

"A quadrupedal mammal who barks out of anger, growls to intimidate, sniffs out of curiosity, licks out of affection and wags it's tail out of joy." Harry responded without hesitation.

"Good description." Sirius nodded. "You used both physical and behavioral traits to describe it. Now, if a dog lacked one of those traits, say, lost a leg in an irresponsibly placed bear trap. Would you still recognize it as a dog?"

"Of Course."

"And if it was mute and unable to make any of those sounds, would you still recognize it as a dog?"

"With ease."

"If it lacked a tail to wag or tongue to lull, would you still recognize it as a dog?"

"With a great amount of pity, yes."

"And if I transfigured it to remove all of it's fur and replace it with scales, would you still recognize it?"

"Barely, but yes."

"Okay. And if I did ALL of those things to a poor mutt and showed it to you, would you then STILL be able to recognize it as a dog?"

Harry could only nod, if with a grimace at such a hypothetical concept.

"Don't you find that strange? That you can change absolutely EVERYTHING that makes a dog, a dog, and you're still able to recognize it for what it is? To the point that a person who has only ever known chihuahuas and never seen any other breed of dogs, not even in photographs, can be introduced to a a Tibetan Mastiff and instantly recognize it despite being as different from a chihuahua as physically possible? Why do you think that is?"

Harry had to actively ponder this question. It was a mind-bender, but one easily solved by process of elimination. There was only one answer he could come up with that he couldn't dismiss.

"The nature of what it means to be a dog is wholly divorced from any physical or behavioral description." He practically gasped.

"Exactly! And not just dogs, but everything. From a desk, to a tree, to a human being." Dumbledore explained. "Most people would attribute this to the limitations of language, but the platonic ideal is best simplified as the belief that there some spiritual realm or existence of perfect forms separate from the physical world."

"Put more simply, I can't define what porn is, but I'll know it when I see it." Regulus added to much snorting from James, Ron, Sirius and Peter.

"Fair enough." Dumbledore pressed on. "And what this means alchemically is that you are spiritually manipulating the nature of things around you to change them physically. It's very abstract, and the processes for accomplishing this are impossibly complex. But that's the theory."

"Then there's the secular theory which is pure nihilism and universal subjectivity, that nothing can be defined at all and you can claim any lie is true." Lily pointed out.

"But down that path lies insanity and death, and nobody _actually_ believes reality isn't real. They just pretend to believe it as an Alinskyite tactic." Peter argued. "That or they're in padded rooms where they belong smearing the walls with their own feces and are incapable of expressing such an opinion."

Harry ignored their brewing argument and tried to apply what he just learned about alchemy to the thing he fought just the night before.

"So, this creature. What was it doing? Alchemically re-defining its nature to that of other animals?" Harry asked. "But physical reality couldn't match the redefinition so it morphed in those horrific ways?"

The answer sounded wrong as it came out of his mouth, but the nod of approval from the headmaster told him his feelings were wrong in this instance.

"This is called imperfect transmutation, which is much easier than perfect transmutation." Dumbledore explained. "It's the equivalent of deliberately transfiguring something incorrectly, but making sure it's good enough to perform the task at hand. Such as fly. What concerns me is that this creature seems to be able to do this an infinite number of times, complete his transformations very quickly, and retain his mind if your accounts are to be believed. It is a true masterpiece of alchemy and I can think of only two living people capable of creating such an abomination."

Harry nodded. A power couple with a combined total of well over a thousand years of experience in alchemy sounded like a likely candidate, but a terrifying prospect.

"The Flamels... They're evil?" Ron voiced Harry's concern.

"No." Lily corrected. "They're amoral. Which is much, _much_ worse. Even Voldemort believes what he's doing is right, even if it's from a self-interested point of view."

They all looked to Dumbledore.

"It's true. They simply don't care about anything except their science. In times of war it is they who instigate the inhumane experiments you read about in history. Those performed by the socialists in Germany and Unit 731 by Japan during World War Two were the most recent, or so I believed until today." Dumbledore said. "Or more specifically I could prove, information on the horrors of communism behind the iron curtain are only now coming to light, but no. It seems they were involved in the wizarding war of britain some seventeen years ago."

"Mother was involved with these monsters?" Regulus asked.

"Indeed. The branch of alchemy known for creating new life, in this case cloning, is known as Transgenesis. The alchemical equivalent to conjuration, if you could make such a simplified analogy." Dumbledroe confirmed. "And to answer your next question, Miss Granger, the other branch is transascension, the field of alchemy focused on making living things ascend into higher planes of being, or transforming them into perfect states. The most basic use of this is immortality and eternal youth, more advanced practices - thankfully lost to time - created beings of divinity so horrifying as to make Lovecraft blanch and detailed in ancient religions. Beings like Ophanim, Baphomet or other angels and demons of the old testament. Or any ancient religion. Things that transcend flesh and machine. Matter made to take on the appearance and nature of the soul within."

**(A/N-1)**

With each word the former headmaster uttered Harry came to understand exactly what kind of threat they were facing. The old man had a way with words, a very deliberate way with words, and he knew the terror he was feeling was exactly what Dumbledore intended him to feel. If he were to read more into the old man's motives, why, it almost seemed as if...

"The Flamels are a far greater threat than Tom, aren't they?" He concluded.

Dumbledore nodded.

"I'm not a god, professor. It's all I can do to resist, let alone defeat, Tom. What do you expect me to do against Nicholas and his wife?"

"Nothing!" Dumbledore roared. "Focus everything you have on Tom. He is the real treat, and unlike the Flamels, he is your enemy. For now Nicholas and Perenelle should be viewed as mad scientists whose only interest in this war is as a vehicle for their own research. So long as you stay out of their way, they shouldn't take too great of an interest in you."

It seemed like good advice. Advice born out of genuine concern for Harry's safety. It showed a distinct lack in understanding of how a young Gryffindor would respond to such instructions.

"Sir, you must know that you can't tell him all of that and expect him to obey that instruction,, can you?" Ron barely got out over his and Hermione's sudden fit of giggles.

The dead Marauders, Regulus and Lily concurred with their own bursts of laughter and Harry had to suppress his own as he confirmed Ron's declaration. Even Moody, who was oddly silent up until then, couldn't stop himself from barking like Sirius.

"He's right. Nick and Perry are going down. They are in need of killing and I suddenly find myself with the will and ability to deliver that fate to those deserving of it." Harry declared in his 'leader' voice. "Regulus, Sirius, I suspect you two may know more than you might think. I doubt it's a coincidence that Walburga had a son on both sides of the war and was in cahoots with the Flamels."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. Huh, the old man hadn't thought of that then.

"What, we were unwitting spies for her?" Sirius concluded.

"Exactly. She is going to be our best source of information for countering whatever their plans are. It also can't be a coincidence that she created a Horcrux and was a supporter of vol... him." Saved by the ward there. "You will need to think over your interactions with her during the first war and try to remember anything of note. Is she in any danger of escaping or can I take care of more pressing matters before interrogating her?"

"Trapped in her own watery prison with her portrait destroyed." Sirius explained.

"I'm willing to bet she outright lived through her Horcrux while trapped down there." Moody piped up. "Similar to how you can merge mental states with your Snitch, she probably spent the last decade and a half traveling in the world of portraits to socialize and keep up with the changing world. I daresay she's perfectly caught up with modern events."

The dangerous possibility of her having a second Horcrux out there was left unsaid for now.

"I'll add interrogating the other portraits of the house to your list of things to do." Harry told Sirius and Regulus. "Gather as much information as you can before we interrogate her. Make sure to get me the names of dead Blacks from the first war as well "

They nodded and Sirius took over the delivery boy before disappearing up the stairs.

"What's more pressing than combating Voldemort and the flamels?" Moody asked calmly.

Harry sighed.

"I have over a dozen children and teenagers suffering the aftereffects of months under the Imperius and constant sexual abuse, a half-dead cousin and two much older and experienced order members I need to deal with." Harry summarized. "Dumbledore, I don't have the experience rallying, consoling or commanding teams like you do. Will you help me? At least with Hestia and Diggle."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"I also recommend summoning the shades of past healers. Particularly those specialized in psychological trauma." Dumbledore advised. "I'm sure St Mungo will be happy to advise you on who to summon if you call him back "

Harry nodded gratefully, before turning to the remaining people present.

"You're all, save for Dumbledore, dismissed."

They faded like smoke in the wind and Harry stood up.

His back cracked in angry protest and his cursed arm spasmed at the sudden movement. He took some deep breaths to calm the pain of decay and walked up the stairs.

He had leading to do.

* * *

**NOTES:**

This chapter was originally twice as long... But the first time I wrote the second half of what you see here I forgot to save! Rewriting from memory what you've already written is TWICE as hard as getting it out of your head the first time. So the rest of what would have been this chapter will be the next chapter instead.

So yeah. Not my longest or most interesting chapter but I hope you still enjoyed it.

**(A/N-1) :**

There are other forms of alchemy I plan to introduce and I'm happy to listen to suggestions. The ones I have planned are transmechanation(transmutingachines) transconscientiousness (transmuting mental energies and features) and so on.

**Reviews**:

**Bediz Wrote:**

It's a great read, so out of the ordinary, but please for the love of Jove! Get a beta reader!

**Response: **

Allow me to answer your review, with another review.

**HeirGaunt Wrote:**

I'm down to be a proofreader. Two Dark Lords duking it out over the flames of Britain? Fuck yes.

**Response:**

Not just Britain, but ZA WARUDO!(I've never watched nor read JoJo and I refuse to ever do so.)

**alexmason809 Wrote:**

Holy fucking shit.

That last chapter made this story go from 'good but generic fanfiction' to 'Taure fanfic' level.

God damn that was great.

Please write more.

**Response:**

I wish you'd specify what it was in this chapter that made this fic go from okay to excellent.

PS: I've read Taure, and I while I would never disparage him, I would also NEVEr consider him the measuring stick of good fanfic writing. Now if you compared me to joe6991, Jbern, Tsu Doh Nimh, DarknessEnthroned or Enembee, then you'd be stroking my Ego HARD.

You would also be a liar.

**YuukiAsuna-Chan Wrote:**

But they are just shades at best but more likely just illusions that are based on your own memory.

**And**

How the fuck does a shade hold a sword?

**Response:**

I plan to explain exactly how I believe the Resurrection Stone works in a later chapter, along with it's true origins. I will also explain an alternative theory in my other story "Magic Knows No Boundaries But Those We Believe In."

**oldkerosenWrote:**

Your story reads like a graphic novel, please continue!

**Response:**

I have a document with all of the most inspiring reviews I've ever received saved onto it. Whenever I need motivation I open that up and read through it.

Your review is going in there.


End file.
